


Fuck Me, Fuck You, Fuck Them, and Fuck That Guy Over There Especially,

by outlineincolor456



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean is 21, Established Relationship, I'm tired, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, M/M, Possessive Dean Winchester, Possessive Sam Winchester, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Sam is 17, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, biker!Dean Winchester, goth!Sam Winchester, it's gonna get bloody, listen, read it, starts in September of 2000, the one with Disney World in it, there's a good deal of fucking, there's a list in the notes at the begining, there's more but my brain is melted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlineincolor456/pseuds/outlineincolor456
Summary: John didn't want to give Dean the Impala. Sam got moodier, started wearing more and more black, got angrier. And Dean? He got a motorcycle. John just got two sons who are slowly showing that they only care about each other and that they couldn't care less about anyone else. Including him.As Sam sets off down a darker path, Dean following happily behind him, John only sees one way he survives.Appease them, and get the fuck out of dodge.Also, fuck Florida for being disgustingly Florida with its warm weather. Florida weather is not goth weather.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this insanely long work. I promise this is going to be a fun multi-chapter adventure, and by fun, I mean full of blood, sex, alcohol, 90's goth culture, maybe some drugs, possible cannibalism, and murder.
> 
> Fair warning right here, right now. If you're squicked out by daddy kink, bloodplay, kinky things in general, murder, bullying, the mention of school shootings, and cannibalism; this may not be the fic for you.
> 
> Also, there's a playlist for this monstrosity.  
> It is not 100% era-accurate, but man I love it so much. 
> 
> Here’s the playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0YaaOBQ0n6kO37ISrWv7qz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 4,657

Dean leans against his bike, standing outside of the local high school in the middle of rural Iowa. It was Sam’s third school of the year, and it was only September, which made Sam more irritable than he would be if they’d been at one school. Or two, but it was the third, and it was only the second week of September, three weeks into the school year.

The first school was the one that had been in the town they’d stayed in for almost a month, tracking down werewolves, about eight of them, before leaving quickly at the end of the full moon. Werewolves were dead, bodies burned, and Sam was sitting behind him on his bike, giving their dad every venom laced word he knew and he knew a ton when John argued that Sam should ride in the Impala. That was a little over two weeks ago. 

To try and pacify his youngest, John agreed to leave them in a town for a few weeks and work cases in the area, letting Sam stay at one school for a bit. Dean had found a part-time job at the local garage, fixing classics that rolled in and cursing out newer cars that just weren’t made the same anymore. At least that’s what he did during the day, at night he worked the graveyard shift at the diner, and if someone propositioned him? Well, for the right price, Dean would do anything for Sammy. 

A few nights ago an older lady, maybe late forties to mid-fifties, offered him a thousand dollars to fuck her in the bathroom, the money was his as long as she had an orgasm. Dean made her orgasm four times and she gave him an extra five hundred. Christmas was approaching, and Dean was hoping to be able to get Sam something special, something he wanted, and to treat him the whole day. With luck, he'd be able to do this right and have plenty for Sam's birthday in May. He’d already made arrangements, having something lined up for their dad to leave them somewhere during the week of Sam's birthday, and Sam, despite loving school for whatever reason, would always skip on his birthday if he could spend it with Dean.

He wasn’t a whore, but he wasn’t about to pass up money that he could use to make sure Sam had what he needed. Clothes that fit seemed like a lot of black ones lately, and that would last a long time, food to eat, a new bookbag; because the one he had was literally falling apart and held together with duct tape, school supplies and things to read. Dean just wanted to make sure that Sam was happy at least in some ways since he couldn’t have the stable home that you didn’t have to pay every day to some lady that smoked three packs a day and had dead eyes that looked at any man, or teenage boy, like a piece of meat.

So there Dean was, leathers warm under the late September sun and keeping him comfortable as the breeze picked up and brought cold air to make him almost regret not having his jacket zipped. School was letting out in a few minutes, Sam hadn’t exactly been thrilled about this school, but he hadn’t exactly been thrilled at the idea of going to another right after Dean and their dad had taken the vengeful spirit the next town over two days after arriving. Dean was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the bell ring and the doors of the school open and slam. Paying attention to his surroundings he knew that a bunch of high schoolers was staring at him, girls and some guys checking him out and, without a doubt, he knew he’d be part of their nightly fantasies. But he was only for one person, and he was just over six feet tall, dark chestnut hair, ever-changing hazel eyes and wearing a very special collar. He cracked a smile when he saw Sam loping towards him, an unamused look on his face until he saw Dean, a smile gracing his features.

Dean couldn’t help but feel a warmth tighten in his chest when Sam lit up at the sight of him. It made him feel special, and he knew he was to Sam, which made him feel even warmer. Sam had skipped a full shirt today, an old Metallica shirt had been chopped to get rid of most of the holes, which he wore over a fishnet shirt, the Metallica logo covering just low enough to brush along the bottom of Sam’s ribs, the majority of Sam’s torso was covered in a leather jacket they’d scored at a thrift store. Black, a little worn, genuine leather, nickel hardware. Sam had spent a few hours making patches from old duffles they’d kept for clothes they needed to burn, but they’d been shoved deep into the corners of the trunk, never to really be used again. Military issue green patches dyed black with some cheap fabric dye they’d found on sale and white fabric paint, there were some Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Type O Negative, and Alien Sex Fiend patches, the rest were sketches from the journal transferred to the canvas and carefully painted then sewn on. The wendigo patch was horrifying, claws and teeth nothing compared to the ghostly eyes. The jacket was a masterpiece and would be pried from Sam’s cold dead fingers, or set into the pyre with him to prevent any spirit attachment. Dean pulled Sam to him and grinned as he was met with a deep kiss, Dean’s finger flicking the leather collar around Sam’s neck, jingling the O-ring. 

“Hey, baby, ready to go?”

“Fuck yes. C’mon. Want you to fuck me deep before we have to deal with dad.” Sam hummed quietly against Dean’s lips. Dean chuckled and handed Sam his helmet, swung his leg over the seat and started her up, tucking his head into his own helmet. They both had full helmets with face shields, it was stupid not to have the face shields. Not only did it help hide their faces if they were running from cops, but it also kept them from getting windburn and sunburn, and in the colder months of climates that got cold enough, frostbite. Dean made sure that Sam was secure, arms wrapped around his waist, as they kicked off and sped off, the roar of the engine under them as they swept around the slow going traffic leaving the high school. Dean wouldn’t ever put Sam in danger with his driving, but they didn’t exactly follow the laws either. Especially when Dean could feel Sam’s erection pressing against his lower back. A few weeks ago, they’d been careful, they got piercings. John would never see them if either brother had any say in it. Sam had gotten his dick pierced, a ladder going down his shaft, Dean had wanted to get a ladder, but after doing research on it and looking at the healing times, knowing he couldn’t sheath himself inside of Sam’s heat until everything was healed, he decided that he’d wait. Maybe if he knew he wouldn’t be able to fuck Sam boneless for a while he’d go get it done. Dean had gotten his hips pierced, which, maybe if his shirt rode up John would see, but they weren’t easily visible, so he wasn’t worried about it.

They sped through downtown, it wasn’t a huge town, but big enough to have a community college nearby, it kinda reminded Dean of Sioux Falls where Bobby lived. In a way, it felt a little familiar. Just on the outskirts of downtown, between the town proper and the surrounding suburb, they reached the motel, a tall brick building that looked skeevy on the outside, but was actually really nice inside. Thankfully, in the last five years the new owner, a younger woman in her thirties, had invested in remodeling the whole motel. Sam, the little minx that he was, ran his hands down Dean’s sides and dipped into the ‘V’ of his crotch when he stretched out before getting off the 1984 Harley Davidson FXRS Low Glide. Dean pulled his helmet off and glared at Sam, knowing that his little brother was smiling under the protection of the face shield. The only person that saw Sam smile anymore was Dean, and he almost didn’t blame Sam for not wanting to show emotion to the masses. Even in the hunter community, their relationship was taboo, which is why nobody else knew about them. Sam had told him many times that he was sure John had his suspicions, and they’d probably be right, but it wouldn’t be hard to throw John off their trail. 

Finally, they headed inside, Dean a little sore from where a werewolf had scratched him up along his shoulder, Sam had stitched him up real good though, but riding didn’t help the strain. Sam didn’t have his motorcycle license yet, he could drive Baby, but not Dean’s bike so that left Dean to driving his bike and Sam and John switching behind Baby’s wheel. John would be back late that night, and that meant that they couldn’t leave hickies where they could be seen. Total bummer, since Sam liked wearing Dean’s mark and Dean liked marking his baby boy. Groaning and rubbing at the tense muscle he made sure that he had his bike locked (he’d made the lock himself, it worked almost like a parking boot) and slung his arm that had his helmet dangling from his fingers around Sam’s waist. 

The kid was skinny, but not too skinny like he didn’t eat enough, skinny in a way that made him lean and told of intense physical activity. Trudging up to the room, the second floor, right next to the fire exit since the first floor was the residence floor and maintenance, Sam’s combat boots almost silent except for when the heel made initial contact with the floor, a pale finished wood that contrasted nicely with the medium gray walls. Dean was tired, he’d put in a full day fixing this stupid Toyota that seemed to have everything wrong with it. Still, nothing made him feel better quite like Sam riding his cock until he was squealing and begging to cum. Quietly he pulled the key card out, swiping it through the reader, giving Sam a silent question when he opened the door, pausing to pull a black leather leash out of his jacket pocket, zipped in the pocket for safe keeping. Sam nodded with a soft smile. Dean grinned and clipped the leash to Sam’s collar, pulling him in for a rough kiss by it.

They stumble into the room, a pleasant sage green on the walls and the same pale wood floor, stylish rugs and a glass coffee table, a comfortable couch and a reasonably large TV on a stand against the opposite wall from the beds. A divider that opened in the middle only mostly obscured the beds, frames of pale wood with slats that made it easy for Dean to tie his baby boy in place and dark green comforters against crisp white sheets. Stale cigarette smell stained the air, but that was Dean’s fault right then because John wasn’t there to smoke in the window like Dean. Only one bed was rumpled, they made sure that every few days they let the maid in to change the sheets and take out the full bag of garbage in the can. Dean tugged on the leash and lead Sam to the foot of the bed. “Strip, slowly. Let me watch.”

Sam nodded and slowly let his jacket slide from his shoulders, turning away from Dean so he could watch the muscles move and see how he’d sliced up the back of the Metallica shirt. As he started slowly tugging it up he started turning, spinning to let Dean enjoy every angle as he removed the sliced shirt.

Sam paused after removing the cropped shirt, letting it dangle from his fingers for a moment to let Dean appreciate the look of the fishnet shirt interrupting the bitten kisses peppering his skin, purple and blue, a little green on the gentle ones. Sam ran his fingers along his hips, the tips dipping into the waistband before trailing up and over the netting, teasing his nipples, already hard from the cool air. Palms flat against his stomach, fingers bringing the flat elastic hem up and peeling the material off his slim body. Dean hums deep in his throat, biting his lower lip to keep himself from licking his lips and distracting Sam from his task. Sam licks his lips, knowing Dean was noticing the slide of his tongue, still freshly pierced enough that he had to religiously rinse with alcohol, as he runs the little silver ball along the pale pink skin.

“God Sammy, could make a saint sin with moves like that. The Pope would fall to his knees and beg to worship you.” Dean groaned, voice husky and quiet as he gently tugs on the leash to bring Sam closer.

“Ah-ah, no touching until I’m done. You want a show, you play by show rules.” Sam smiled and grabbed the leash to keep Dean from jerking him closer. 

“Mean. You’re being mean to your Daddy, Baby Boy.” Dean pouted, hoping to get Sam to cave.

“You’re the one who told me to give you a show, Daddy.” Sam pouted coyly back, biting his lip and tugging his ripped jeans down, the high waist coming up just below Sam’s bellybutton. Dean absently noted that they’d need to dye them again, the black hadn’t been as deep as they wanted to get it.(32) He’d pick up some more dye and make sure to have the pants sit overnight in the solution to get the color right. Sighing he leaned back and nodded, he let the leash drop and watched as Sam slid his hands under the waistband of his jeans, so many holes in the tight denim that he barely had any skin covered. Dean wondered if Sam’s pants broke the dress code at school. He hoped they did, dress codes were a bunch of shit.

Sam hummed softly as he swayed his hips, nimble fingers popping the button and pulling the fly down, letting Dean see a glimpse of the black and red panties underneath. He bit his lip, groaning in frustration and want, needing nothing more than to get his hands on the embodiment of sin before him. Sam kept swaying and wiggling his hips, slowly, teasingly, as he leaned against the wall, one foot flat against it as he plucked at the knot in the laces of his combat boot. Once the boot was untied and unlaced far enough that he could just slip out of it he switched feet to repeat, only peeling off the jeans once he could fully step out of them and his boots. His jeans made a heavy ‘thud’ as they hit the floor, the belt he had worn to keep them up studded heavily.

Sam smiled at the expression on Dean’s face, he took pride in seeing the sheer lust and adoration on Dean’s face, so expressive when he let himself show emotion. Dean finally gave in, scooping the end of the leash up from the floor where he’d dropped it, and tugged, hard. Sam had been expecting it, but still stumbled some on his awkwardly long legs. Hitting the edge of the bed, a small section available between Dean’s spread legs, Sam held his hands out to steady himself, catching himself on Dean’s shoulders. “So perfect, Baby Boy,” Dean growled and let his hands wander across the soft flesh in front of him. 

Sam let out a soft sigh, a small whimper leaving his lips as Dean played with the blood red lace and black satin of his panties, trailing along the edge of the elastic. Dean lets his lips ghost over the skin, feeling it tremble and quiver in response, Sam’s breathing is slow but shallow as goosebumps rise along the trail Dean leaves. “Just for you Daddy, only for you.”

“That’s right, you’re not good for anyone but me, are you?”

“No, only you Daddy.”

“Good. Now, put some music on, some of those longer songs you like.”

Sam nods and fiddles through his bag, pulling out another bag he kept padded with his dirty laundry. Some CDs and some cassettes, all spread out and arranged carefully before Sam picked up one. He pulled out the disc, put it into the stereo that was in the room, leash trailing behind him. The soft sounds of Virgin Black’s Equiem, Kyrie filtering through the air. Sam looked back to Dean for approval and smiled like a child who got a puppy for Christmas when Dean nodded. “Turn it up kinda loud baby, gonna see if we can make the neighbors think it’s part of the music.”

Sam made sure the music was loud, but not too loud as to piss off any other tenants of the motel. When he reached Dean he kneeled, palms up on his thighs, shoulders relaxed. “Good, now, help Daddy get undressed.”

Sam smiled and nodded, unlacing Dean’s boots while Dean pulled his shirt off, jacket having been discarded across the back of the couch before they even stumbled to the beds. Sam tugged socks off as Dean pulled his jeans down, leaving him in nothing but threadbare black boxer briefs. He had to bite his lip, rocking back onto his heels and scooting away, waiting to be told what to do next, trying to keep himself from touching Dean further and getting into trouble. 

Dean chuckled and pulled Sam up by the leash, bringing him into a kiss. “No scene today baby boy, just us having fun before dad comes back, okay? Or do you need a scene?” 

“No, I don’t need a scene. I’ll be fine without one.”

“Okay, you let me know as soon as you feel like you need one and I’ll get dad to fuck off for a few days. Alright?”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Good boy.” Dean brings Sam closer, hands cupping the swell of his ass and squeezing, fingers dipping into the crack and teasing his little brother’s eager hole. “You think you’re still open from this morning, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, ‘m still open enough.”

“Should probably still slick you up, wouldn’t want to hurt my baby.”

Sam nodded and took Dean’s words for what they were, grabbing the bottle of lube from under his pillow and handing it to Dean. He watched as the older Winchester slicked three fingers, the hand quickly disappearing behind Sam, dipping into his panties and teasing his rim. Dean could feel the sticky remnants of his cum and half dried lube beneath his slick fingers, two sliding into Sam’s tight heat slowly, stretching even though Sam whined that he didn’t need to be so gentle. “Shh baby boy, you’ll take what Daddy gives. Settle.” Dean soothed, biting Sam’s shoulder in reprimand until he calmed, only moving back into Dean’s fingers as they thrust inside of him. Soon the third and final finger slid in, slicking Sam up enough that it felt like he was dripping with lube and the cum from that morning.

Sam squirmed as Dean carefully played with his ass, making sure to just tease around his prostate, but not actually press on it. Dean couldn’t help but let out an amused chuckle at the pout on Sam’s face. “De please, ‘m ready c’mon.”

Dean rolled his eyes, kissed Sam quickly before flipping them and slamming Sam’s body into the mattress with a growl. “Bossy today, aren’t you? Maybe we should’ve done a scene to remind you who’s in charge.”

“Dean we have four hours before dad gets back, and we have to air out the room.”

Dean gave Sam a look that said ‘you’re right but shut up’ before stripping off their underwear and tossing them to the corners of the unknown, Virgin Black still playing loudly behind them. With quick and efficient strokes, Dean slicked his erection and pressed into Sam’s waiting hole, not wasting any time. He set a brutal pace, skimming over Sam’s prostate as often as he could, but making sure to not hit it dead on completely. Sam tended to scream when he did that, and he was hoping to save one really good scream for the end of the CD to let everyone know that the sounds coming from Sam’s throat wasn’t a recording.

The thought of Sam letting him record them together was insanely hot and made Dean bite into Sam’s shoulder where it met his neck to muffle a groan. Sam was a mess, hair everywhere and fingers almost weak from how hard he was gripping the sheets. Dean slid one hand into Sam’s hair, pulling and tugging, using it to hold him in place as he fucked deeper, harder and faster. Right hand in Sam’s hair, the left digging his blunt nails into his hip, a growl deep in his throat as Sam arched into every movement. Wishing that he had more hands, and not for the first time. Dean’s hand briefly left Sam’s hair and yanked on the leash to pull it tight, holding it in place with his teeth before his hand returned to pulling Sam’s hair, making the younger let out a rather loud groan. The bed was thudding against the wall, which prompted the neighbor on the other side to pound on the wall. There was a muffled ‘Keep it down buddy!’ and all it did was make Dean pull Sam into every thrust, nailing his prostate every few strokes. 

“C’mon Baby Boy, show ‘em how loud you are when you cum for Daddy,” Dean whispered huskily in Sam’s ear, nipping the lobe.

Sam pressed his back to Dean’s chest, back bowing until only his shoulders and ass were the points of contact as he screamed, cumming without a single touch to his cock, white splattering against the sheets. Dean wasn’t much further behind, the vice of his little brother’s hole practically milking every drop of cum from his balls. 

They collapsed together on the bed, Sam landing in the wet spot where his cum soaked the comforter, Dean right behind him, nestled up against his back. Sam huffed in annoyance when he felt Dean’s softened cock slip out from him, overstimulated and sticky. “We gotta shower soon. Can’t look like we both showered back to back in case dad comes back when one of us is still in the shower.” 

“Yeah, I know princess, I know. Can’t wait ‘til May, won’t have to be this careful.”

“De-”

“I know. I know Sam, you don’t want dad to know ever if we can help it, and I’m on the same sheet of music, ‘s just once you’re a legal adult there’s nothing he can really do about it. Yeah, it’s illegal, but do you seriously think that the folks in the backwoods of Mississippi or some shit that do the whole ‘incest’ thing get arrested if it’s consensual and they’re adults? No, cops don’t exactly get the handcuffs out for that shit.” Dean sighed heavily and rubbed his thumb along Sam’s hip, nosing the nape of his neck and nipping gently. “Let’s shower together, I’ll help you clean up.”

“You mean you want to finger me again under the guise of getting your cum out of my ass.” Sam chuckled, turning and pulling Dean into a kiss and grinding his ass against Dean’s crotch. 

“Hey, hey, hey, easy. I can’t go again that soon baby, you know that.” Dean teased, nipping Sam’s lip and leaving it swollen, knowing it’d be purple and blue tomorrow when Sam went into school. Slowly they sat up, Sam hissing slightly as he felt some of Dean’s cum dribble out, the cooling liquid feeling unpleasant at best against his sore rim. 

“I should deck you for suggesting we stop trying to hide shit from dad as hard as we do now. What would we tell him if he asked how long we’d been doing this shit Dean, huh? Are we gonna pretend that it’s all new because you didn’t want to do anything until my birthday? Are we seriously going to erase all of that progress as a couple, pretend to be fumbling with the whole balance of being brothers and boyfriends? Is that seriously what you want?” Sam snapped, voice quiet and angry.

Dean pulled Sam closer, Sam struggling to not be pulled and smacking Dean’s hands and arms away the whole time, trying to push him away. 

“Sam.”

“No. You don’t get it, Dean.”

“Yes, Sammy, I do.”

“No, you don’t! If dad knows about us, not only could he figure out that we were together long before my eighteenth birthday, but he could try to get you arrested. Or, even worse, out us both to the hunting community and tell them that it’s open season on his two incestuous gay sons. The thought alone kills me, knowing that because we love each other, that because we started fucking when I was sixteen, could get you tossed into jail or killed.” Sam huffed and got up, marching over to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, throwing the lock and scrubbing at his face in frustration.

Shaking his head Sam unclasped his collar and set it on the edge of the sink, starting the water and allowing it to heat up. Just as he was about to step in he heard Dean knock on the door, well, more like pound on it. “Not now Dean, I’m not in the mood.”

“Sam,”

“No! No Dean! I’m not doing this right now!” Sam hit the door and listened to Dean stumble back. “So help me god if you pick the lock I’m cutting you off.”

“Okay, can you at least hand me your collar? The humidity isn’t good for the leather.” Sam blinked and sighed, grabbing the collar; leash still attached and unlocked the door only opening it a crack and shoving the leather out of the room, dropping it on Dean’s foot. Just as quick he slammed the door shut again and locked it, promptly getting in the shower.

Twenty minutes Sam got out and wrapped himself in a towel, another smaller towel laying on top of his head to dry his hair after getting some underwear on. Exiting the bathroom he motioned to Dean that the bathroom was his, then dug around in his bag for a pair of sweatpants. Finding a pair he pulled them on and had to dig further to find his long sleeve shirts that would hide at least half of the bite mark that Dean left.

Making sure he had everything covered as best he could without wearing a turtleneck; winter was Dean’s favorite time of year because he could markup Sam’s neck, he grabbed his walkman and Type O Negative tape, his lighter and the pack of clove cigarettes he’d stolen a few towns back. Dean wouldn’t buy him cigarettes, but wouldn’t yell at him if he smoked, just absently reminded him that it wouldn’t help him run in the long run.

Sam made sure he had his silver butterfly knife in his pocket before pounding on the bathroom door and telling Dean he was going outside. Not waiting for a response he grabbed his jacket and headed out, letting his feet thud along the stairs as he jogged down them, combat boots untied around his feet. He didn’t plan on doing any real walking other than what it took to get him to the parking lot and back to the room, so he’d just stuffed his bare feet into his boots.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 4,812

Sam scuffed his feet along the pavement, going to lean against Dean’s bike, lighting a thin black papered stick and inhaling deeply. Sam wished he had something more to relax, last town he and Dean had gotten high, he’d been able to buy twenty bucks of weed off one of the stoner kids and they’d fucked until dawn, listening to Pink Floyd and Black Sabbath.

Sam was still leaning against Dean’s bike when he heard the familiar growl of Baby’s engine coming down the street, making him drop his fourth cigarette and snuff it out, kicking the butt away from Dean’s bike and heading inside. John wouldn’t be too much further behind, but he’d need to stretch and get his things out and depending on his injuries he’d take a while to get up the stairs too. Kicking it up into high gear he ran up the steps once calmly walking through the lobby, a disinterested girl with green and blue hair giving him a quick glance before going back to her magazine. It took him less than five minutes to reach their room at the end of the hall, open the door and drop his crap into the depths of his bag again.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, wearing a t-shirt that was a size too small and boxers. “Dad’s back. Go smoke in the window, it’ll get rid of the sex stench faster.”  
“Sam, I’m sorry. You’re right, he can’t know for as long as we can keep it that way.” Dean placed a cigarette between his lips and lit the end, inhaling deeply on the first drag and holding it in while he opened the window all the way instead of half where it had been. Sam busied himself with stripping the sheets off and balling them up and tossing them in the corner. They’d have to go to the front desk and ask for a new set.

“Not...not forever De, just… look, now’s not the time.” Sam sighed, feeling a bit guilty that he’d made Dean feel bad enough to apologize. He smiled a little, soft and apologetic before crossing the room and kissing Dean softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, now stop kissin’ me before dad walks in.” Dean teased, nudging Sam to send him off to the couch. Sam smiled a little brighter and plopped down on the couch, tossing his jacket over the back and playing with his butterfly knife while channel surfing. “D’you need to sharpen that?”

Sam shook his head, “Nah, sharpened it last week. Could probably shave with it if I wanted. Just a little less steady than I want near my throat.”

“Yeah, but you only need to shave like, twice a week.”

“I don’t just shave my face, Dean.” Sam winked. Dean scowled and tried to hide the amused glint in his eye as John unlocked the door and walked in, dropping his heavy duffle off to the side of the door.

“Hey boys,” John sighed, a tired but happy smile on his face.  
“Hey, dad.”  
“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean got up from his perch on the window to flick his cigarette into the ashtray before going up to their dad,(69) a firm hand turning his head side to side to make sure there wasn’t any head wounds or signs of a concussion.  
“It was fine, got stitched up in a clinic, shoulder’s out for a bit. Means digging is up to you Dean unless Sam comes along you’ll have that joy to yourself.”  
Dean couldn’t help the sarcastic pout, “Awesome. I fucking love digging like a fucking jack russell terrier. Fantastic.”

John frowned at Dean’s comments and was about to say something when Sam cut in. “So, shoulder’s fucked in three different ways, anything else? We gotta leave sooner rather than later or what?”  
“Samuel.”  
“No, I don’t give a shit how that sounds dad, I just need to know if I’m gonna need to have my shit packed before school or if I’m even going in tomorrow.”  
“You’re going in tomorrow, but we’ll be leaving shortly after.”  
“Got it, half day then.”  
“No -”  
“Dad, every time you say ‘leaving shortly after school’ it means you’ll show up as soon as Dean’s done with work for the day. Dean gets done at 1:30. School’s out at 3:30, so, half day.” Sam gave John a flat look topped with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll hand in my shit and get my transcripts.”  
“Nah Sammy, I’ll take you in tomorrow and pick ‘em up then. Remember the last school? They wouldn’t hand ‘em over.”  
“Yeah, guess that’ll work.” Sam shrugged, finally settling on the local news, glaring down the news anchor that had a really bad fake tan, too many highlights, and teeth so unnaturally white he was pretty sure that they weren’t real.

When John went to lay a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder the youngest Winchester moved out of reach and got up, mumbling about getting new sheets for the bed from the front desk. Stuffing his feet back into his boots and leaving the room without another look to their father. John watched his youngest son go, concern on his features.  
“Dean.”  
“Yeah?” Dean grunted, pulling out a knife and whetstone, pointedly not looking at the Winchester patriarch as he did so.  
“Do you think Sam-”  
“Dad, if you spout that shit about goth kids all being school shooters like the rest of the town, and try to needle something out of Sam, you’ll make it worse. Columbine was a shitshow, but the minority of a minority paints the majority of that minority in a bad light. Just-” Dean let out a heavy sigh and rolled his head back and forth until it popped and released the tension building in it. “Just try to not prod, we’ve got so little privacy in the first place, being all ‘concerned parent’ is just going to make him retreat further.”

“Should we get him laid then? He seems tense all the time maybe-”  
“O-kay, gonna stop you there. One, no kid wants their parent in their sex lives. Two, I can’t believe that came out of your mouth, three, pretty sure Sam’s not the kinda guy that does a hookup.”  
“Pizza tonight?”  
“Sure, just make sure there are peppers on the pizza for Sam.”  
John nodded and picked up the local pizza joint delivery pamphlet and started looking over the options. “If you want to make him not so angry throw in a salad or mozzarella sticks too, both if you really wanna apologize.” Dean offered, going back to the window to light another cigarette while he sharpened the knife. 

Sam talked music with the girl at the front desk, they’d had a sort of tentative appreciation of one another, both being in the alternative community pushed them into the part of society that got dirty looks and ‘trenchcoat mafia’ spat at them. She’d handed him the sheets and a new blanket ten minutes ago, but they were in a deep conversation about the effects of Kurt Cobain’s death and the Columbine shooting. How tired they were of other people looking at them like they were going to gore children just for looking at them, of people crossing the street and crossing themselves and whimpering the Lord’s Prayer as they walked past. They kept talking for a while, Sam mentioned that he wasn’t quite interested with dealing with his dad right then, and the girl nodding her head saying she’d keep him company until he felt like going back.

Fifteen minutes later they heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, during their debate about different hair dye and fabric dye, Sam lamenting about how he wasn’t allowed to dye his hair colors that would attract attention. Sam froze when John appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Quickly bidding his acquaintance goodbye he pushed past his dad, not caring at all when their shoulders collided. “Sam!-”  
“Not now. Just,-” Sam huffed and spun on his heel, and had the stairs been wet he would’ve slipped with how quickly he had, glaring down the hunter before him. “Fucking don’t. Don’t talk to me until we’ve left and sat in another fucking town for four hours before you go running off, telling me we’ll be there for a few weeks only to turn around in a few days and do this shit over and over again. When’s the last time we were anywhere for a month? Huh? When I was twelve and we stayed in South Dakota at Bobby’s because you broke your leg? We only stayed because we couldn’t drive both the Impala and Dean’s bike at the same time. As soon as you got that cast off we were moving non-stop. I missed a month of school because we were moving too much to enroll me somewhere. I don’t want your excuses, I don’t want your meager attempts to make up for this shit, I want you to leave me alone.” Sam finally started back up the stairs, ignoring his dad’s calls. Reaching the room he turned and looked at Dean, sitting in the window inspecting the edge of the knife in the dying sunlight. “De.”

Dean looked up and saw the look on Sam’s face, a heartbroken look in his own eyes before sheathing the knife and tossing it on the bed with the whetstone, arms opening. “C’mere baby, I got you.” Sam stumbled, almost drunk with how emotionally drained he was, right into Dean’s arms.

“We should’a done a scene after all,” Sam muttered bitterly.

“You want me to try and get dad outta here for a few hours?” Dean offered, petting Sam’s hair and holding him close as he guided them to the couch.

Sam shook his head and buried his face into Dean’s shirt. “No, I just wish he’d stop trying to talk to me after telling me that shit. He knows how much I hate moving every week. I’ve been to more high schools than anyone in the country, you don’t count because you skipped half the time to either hunt or make out with Tracy the cheerleader in the janitor’s closet.”

“I’m sorry Sammy, I wish I could find a way to make you happy.”  
“It’s not that I’m not happy, I am, when it’s just us when we can pretend that we’re not going to pack up and haul ass outta whatever shithole town we’re in at the end of the week,” Sam mumbled into Dean’s shirt, refusing to cry, he wasn’t sad, just frustrated. The same lies, over and over and over, and he still believed their dad. Maybe it’d be easier if it didn’t come true every so often, easier if they were just always moving and never staying for more than a week. Easier maybe if he didn’t have to switch schools and was homeschooled instead.

When they heard fumbling outside of the door they pulled apart and Sam shuffled to the bathroom to make sure his eyes weren’t irritated or watering up. John was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Dean spoke softly, just trying to get the tension down enough that they could be in the same room as one another and eat a meal, even if it came from the place down the street and was eaten out of a cardboard box. Sam could hear them speak as he pressed a cool washcloth to his eyes to bring the irritation down.

When he left the bathroom Dean was opening boxes, two pizzas and two styrofoam containers sat on the table, small and overcrowded with the food, paper plates sat in three spots near the edge of the table. Sam shrugged and flipped open a box of pizza and put two pieces of pepper and sausage pizza on his plate, but stopped when he was handed a styrofoam container by John. With a raised eyebrow and a tired, unamused look, Sam set his plate down and opened the box, finding a simple side salad in it, low-fat dressing packets sitting on top of the lettuce. “Thanks, dad.”

Sam plopped down on the couch next to Dean, salad and plastic fork in hand. A quick shake and the dressing was distributed better and dug in. They ate until John was passed out in a pizza coma, Dean lazily munching on the last slice and Sam pushing away the last crust. Sam groaned a claim that he’d barf if he ate another bite. Dean groaned, roughly shoving Sam’s leg with his foot. “Don’t mention that.”  
“Got it. ‘M gonna go lay down, don’t wake me up by biting my ass again.” Sam grunted before shuffling into the freshly made bed and laying down slowly.

Dean came to bed fifteen minutes later, John was passed out on the lazy chair in the room and neither brother was up to the task of waking John up and getting him to get into the bed. He’d wake up at some point in the night and fall into the bed. So the two lovers curled up together, Sam’s head on Dean’s chest, Dean’s leg slung over Sam’s hip, and fell asleep.

The next week was full of a lot of asphalt. For some hours Sam would ride with Dean, and when John would signal to them to pull over, Sam would switch with their dad, letting the patriarch sleep in the back seat as Dean followed close to the Impala. On deserted roads, Dean would ride beside her, keeping Sam company as he played his Nirvana cassettes in the car, their dad’s chainsaw snores almost drowning out the music.

Finally, they reached Florida. Sam hated it. The humidity was hellish, the sun never felt so bright, and everywhere he looked it seemed like all it was bright colors and old people. There was a case. And it was in the one place Sam and Dean had never, ever, ever been and never thought they’d live to see. Disney World.

They found the cheapest motel they could as close to the park as they could. Apparently, there wasn’t just one creature, there were two. A shapeshifter and a vengeful spirit. Sam and Dean were tasked with the spirit, John was taking the shapeshifter. They had run across someone who had connections with Disney security, and a guy was going to get them in each day and out each night.

Sam couldn’t decide if he was excited or dreading going to Disney World. He wanted to go as a small child, and he’d even asked their dad, once. It didn’t go well, so Sam had gone silent for months, only whispering things to Dean. Little seven-year-old Sam would go to school, go through the day silent, find Dean, not say anything, do his homework and eat dinner, listening to Dean talk about his day. The response he’d gotten from John at the simple question had scared Sam into silence for nine months, only when summer started did he start talking again, quietly and again, only to Dean, but still, the memory haunted him.

He switched with John again, letting their dad drive them to the park after driving them to the motel. Dean insisted that they should take both the Impala and his bike, in case one of them had to leave in a hurry and couldn’t get to the others. They rolled up to the park, and Sam could feel a pit in his stomach. He looked maybe 18, so at least he could pull off smoking in the designated areas. He’d snagged a couple of packs from a shop in Georgia, so he should be good for a little while. John called their connection and described the three of them, being vague enough that if the guy was a total dick and decided that he was going to do something sketchy to get them in trouble, they could use denial in their favor.

They met this guy, a round man with a well-groomed mustache and dark, short cropped hair named Greg, and he lead them in, bags and all, past metal detectors and lines, slipping them day passes and telling them to meet him at the statue of Walt Disney by midnight, refrain from using guns if they could, and that they’d have to ask for him personally if any other security gave them problems. Greg slapped a sticker on their bags, Sam had a backpack and so did Dean, John had a small duffle pack, the stickers meaning that the bags had cleared security check.

John told them about their spirit, of course, it was in The Haunted Mansion. Guests probably thought the ghost was some new part of the attraction and shrugged it off. They’d have to ride the ride through a few times, see where the spirit comes up, decide how dangerous it was, and figure out what was tying it there. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun while doing it though. They made plans to meet up for lunch at the 4 Rivers Cantina Barbacoa Food Truck, marking the meetup on their maps and making sure everyone had a full battery on their cell phones. Sam and Dean set off, heading towards their hunting grounds, John going in the opposite direction with Greg to get the low down on the shapeshifter. Dean quietly reminded John to make sure to test Greg every so often before they parted ways. 

The two lovers took the opportunity to hold hands as they walked, pausing under a shade tree to apply sunscreen to Dean’s exposed skin, the older grumbling something about freckles. “I like your freckles, De, they’re hot.”

“No, they’re not, they’re all-”  
“I think they’re sexy. You’ve got ‘em everywhere, even here.” Sam shushed him by rubbing along Dean’s hip, gently rolling the piercing under his thumb. “You have some on your butt too, and they’re definitely sexy. Like a dessert sprinkled with cinnamon. So sush, I just don’t want you to burn, you’re miserable when you’re sunburnt.”

Dean huffed before tugging Sam closer, hips pressed together tight, then kissed him. Soft and slow, but keeping it short, because y’know, homophobes. Dean let go, letting Sam take a step back, content for now to appreciate Sam’s body. He’d worn form-fitting clothes today, tight jeans with rips, his comfiest combat boots, his other collar with inch long spikes in it, a long-sleeved fishnet shirt underneath a tight black t-shirt. They’d both brought swim trunks just in case they wandered to Splash Mountain. Wandering around for a while they stopped to grab some frozen treats from something called the “Aloha Isle”, both got pineapple swirl whips, happily eating their treats while bumping into each other. By the time they reached the Haunted Mansion, there was a line, but it wasn’t huge thankfully, and Sam took the time to apply more sunscreen to Dean’s face. 

The day was long, filled with the ride operators giving Sam and Dean odd looks when they kept coming back to the Haunted Mansion. Finally, lunch drew closer and they headed to the meeting spot, a little sore from walking and walking. Once Dean complained that he wished that he could have his bike in the park, but Sam just rolled his eyes and reminded him that this would probably be the only time they ever got to see something normal like Disney World.

That prompted a sad look to cross Dean’s face, which Sam kissed away. Together they debated on what was tying the spirit to the ride, deciding they’d need to actually do a sweep of the behind the scenes. John is late to lunch, Sam and Dean already had ordered and gotten food, finding a nice spot to sit in the shade. 

Sam wasn’t all that worried about the hunt, John would manage the shapeshifter just fine, and he and Dean would wrap things up without much problem. Maybe they could convince their dad to let them use up the passes before moving on and just relax for a bit, act as a couple on a date for a bit. He wondered if they could find somewhere to fuck in Cinderella’s castle. After lunch, tacos all around because why would they pass up tacos, they split up again.  
“Hey, De?”

“Yeah Baby Boy?”

“Fuck me in Cinderella’s Castle.”

Dean looked at Sam, stopping in the middle of the path they were ambling along, eyes wide behind the darkly tinted aviator sunglasses. “Fuck, just wanna make all of Daddy’s fantasies come true, don’t you Baby Boy?”

“Well, this is the place that dreams come true.”

“Gonna kill me, Sammy.”

“You’re not allowed to die, besides, I’ve got something for you.”

“Please tell me it has to do with your sweet ass.”

“You’ll have to find us somewhere to find out.”

“Shit.” Dean hissed, grabbing Sam’s wrist and hurrying towards the castle. They definitely got some looks, two young men, one goth and another in a leather jacket and tank top, moving at speed towards Cinderella’s Castle.

They had to slow down, mostly because they didn’t know their way around the castle, but also to not raise suspicion and to watch for staff. Finally, they found a door, it was unlocked and the room was empty. Panting and sloppy kissing sounds filled the small space, Sam was up against a wall and Dean’s hands were pushing their pants down. Sam pulled their shirts off as Dean worked on pants, not bothering to shove the denim down all the way.

Sam pushes Dean back a little, giving himself room to turn around, Dean watching with bated breath as he took in the mesh and lace panties Sam was wearing. Sam bent over, spreading his legs wide and letting Dean see the plug in his ass. He could hear Dean groan, and could almost see him biting his lip as he looked over his shoulder.

Dean palmed Sam’s ass, smoothing over the panties and teasing the plug with his fingernail, running around the edge of the little gem on the base and letting himself tease the seam between Sam’s rim and the plug. “Fuck sweetheart, when-”

“In the shower this morning. Barely managed to keep quiet.”

“Goddamn… Sam, you’re gonna haf’ta stop with the surprises for a lil bit so I don’t get hard every time someone says ‘surprise’.” 

“Mmm, but I love when you get hard.”

“I know you do, but it’ll cause problems we can’t always fix.”

“Dean, get your cock in me already, ‘m gonna ruin these panties.”

Dean chuckled and slid the panties down, and in a few seconds, he had Sam’s panties around his ankles with his jeans, the plug in Sam’s backpack pocket where he’d found lube and slicked his cock with it. Hurried and needy movements had him pushing in a little faster than he normally would have, but Sam was stretched and slick, not to mention horny. Dean had his teeth in Sam’s shoulder and hand wrapped around his dick loosely, Sam’s piercings still weren’t completely healed yet and they had to be gentle. “Give it to me hard De, wanna feel it when we walk around and get on Space Mountain.”

“Fuck yeah baby, gonna cum in your sweet hole and slip that plug back inside of ya, make you walk around with my load in your ass as we work.” Dean groaned, biting hard on Sam’s shoulder.

They moved in tandem, working together to get each other off as quickly as they could so they could slip out of the castle without too many questioning looks. Dean made good on his promise, cumming inside of Sam and slipping the plug back inside of him, making sure to slide the panties back up and dress Sam carefully after licking his softened cock clean.

Sam had to shift and wiggle to make sure that the plug wouldn’t cause discomfort while walking around, and all the shimmying was a temptation Dean had already given into. As much as they would love to go again, they also didn’t want to be banned from Disney World because they’d been caught fucking in Cinderella’s Castle.

With a little fussing, they fixed Sam’s hair so it looked like he didn’t just get fucked up a wall. Slipping back into the casual foot traffic passing through the castle was easy enough, Sam was limping some, and Dean couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when he noticed. “Shut up.” The younger grunted as they found a nearby snack stand and ordered drinks and fries, Dean always wanted a snack after an afternoon delight.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but the stupid look on your face says ‘I fucked my boyfriend’s ass so good that he’s walking with a limp’, which is mostly true. The plug is the main reason I’m limping, trying to get it to not brush against my prostate is kinda interesting.” Sam shrugged after shoving his shoulder into Dean’s. They turned around, food and drinks in hand, to see a mother, clearly one of those ones that clutch her pearls at the word ‘darn’ and would also be an embarrassment at a restaurant if there were just one too many blueberries in her pancakes, her face stricken with horror. She gave them this horrified, disgusted look as she clutched her children’s hands, what mother took her kids to Disney World in the middle of the day on a school day? Dean just couldn’t resist.

Dean slipped his free arm, he only had one drink and Sam had both his drink and the food in his hands, around Sam’s waist and dipped his hand into his waistband, playing with the edge of his panties. The kids were maybe seven or eight, no more than a year and a half between them, and seemed to stare at Sam’s clothes with that bright curiosity that kids got when they saw someone they think is cool. “Maybe we’ll head to the keys, go clubbing for a little, sex in public is always so much fun. Bet we could get away with doing it right at the bar, huh baby?” Dean purred as he nuzzled Sam’s ear and tugged at the piercing, keeping eye contact with the woman. 

Sam followed suit with a smile. “Yeah, bet they’d pay us after too, you’re incredible to watch.” 

The woman was fuming, absolutely horrified, and Sam couldn’t help his laughter as he and Dean turned away, Sam even limped more noticeably and whimpered when Dean slid his hand to his ass, over the panties; not that prude lady would know, as they found somewhere to relax and eat their snack in the shade.

They spent the rest of the day having fun and discussing the case, knowing they’d need to talk to Greg. By the end of the day, they’d riled up over three dozen homophobes, found a way into the behind the ride of The Haunted Mansion, and found a great place to relax. As promised they met Greg at the statue at midnight, he escorted them out and Sam questioned him about the spirit in the ride, getting details of the person it had been.

Greg got them out of the park, asked them if they’d be back tomorrow, and Sam told him that they would be and that they’d need to get access to the ride. Greg suggested they come later in the day and they could spend the night in the park to get the ghost taken care of. John said he’d be by as soon as the park opened to look for the shapeshifter.

Sam rode with Dean, following John back to the motel. The vibrations from the bike hit the plug so perfectly that Sam was hard and moaning behind Dean as the plug vibrated against his prostate. Thankfully they’d booked separate rooms, having enough money to do so, especially in warm and humid states like Florida, was a fucking blessing. Even more so when Sam needed Dean to fuck him until he couldn’t move. John was on a floor above them, since the motel didn’t have any single bedrooms available on the ground floor.

It doesn’t take them long to finish their cases, John ended up needing Sam to drive him to Bobby’s. The dumbass ended up with a concussion bad enough that they had to take him to the ER, not just for that, but he also broke his fucking leg. Not the same one as the last time, but he’d broken his femur bad enough that he’d needed surgery to fix it. So he was out of the game for a while. With John hopped up on pain meds strong enough to make a horse loopy they set course for Sioux Falls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems like school doesn't like Sam much, even if Sam likes school.  
> Word Count: 5,043

Bobby always had a soft spot for Sam, without the puppy eyes, so when they came knocking, only a phone call an hour after they hit the state line as a warning, Bobby couldn’t help but cuss them out and call them idjits before hugging both boys and sending John to go rest in the guest bedroom next to the library. 

Somehow Sam felt that Bobby knew. Knew that Sam likes Dean fucking him through the night, that he couldn’t sleep right unless his big brother’s cum was steadily dripping from his ass, that he knew that if anyone tried to separate them that they’d shed the blood of a million humans and monsters alike to get back to each other. 

When they enrolled Sam into the high school it wasn’t too hard, since he’d been in the district before. Still, there were some issues. Not with the staff, with the other students. Nobody really remembered him, and that was fine, and Dean had matured enough that they didn’t put anything together. So they were able to be a couple at the school.

A week into being at the high school someone, clearly not shaken by the Columbine shootings like most, decided to tell Sam exactly how he felt about a ‘little goth faggot’ being in ‘his’ school. Sam ended up with bruises all over his face, a cut on his forehead, a broken nose, a broken wrist, and two cracked ribs. When Dean saw Sam stumbling out of the school at the end of the day, which he had to attend because the nurse downright refused to believe his wrist was broken and that his nose was just swollen, he lost his shit.

“Sammy, baby what happened?”

“Well being goth and gay seems to be a problem. De, my wrist, I’m gonna need you to drive slow or go get the Impala, can’t hold on with it.” Sam groaned as Dean prodded over his injuries. 

“Sweetheart I am not leaving you here, not a fucking chance.” He grimaced when he felt the break in Sam’s nose. “I don’t know if you’d be able to get your helmet on and off.”

Sam shook his head and leaned against Dean’s strong body for a moment. “No, you need to get the Impala, between not getting the helmet on and my wrist, I’m sure I’d just fall off.”  
Dean frowned and sat Sam down on the curb, some students watching them and some just standing off to the side, waiting for something to happen.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do, remember when we were in Boston, you set my nose? Same thing. Gonna get you fixed up enough to get your helmet on.” Dean hushed as Sam cradled his wrist to his chest, biting his lip until it bled. “C’mon baby, you’ve been bitten, scratched and sliced, poisoned, beaten and you’re tellin me that you’re gonna gnaw your lip off because of pushing your nose back in place? How many times have you broken your nose, huh?”

“Six times.”

“See, you can do it. Just like the six times before.”

Dean reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his flask. “Hunter’s helper, drink.”

“De I hate whiskey.”

“I know tequila freak, listen, I’ll give you a whole bottle of Patron if you suck it up and drink that and let me set your nose.”

“Fine. Give me a minute.” Sam sighed and sloshed the flask, gauging how much was in it before opening it and chugging. Two minutes later he’d drank the whiskey. “Well. Set it. We’ll wait on the wrist.”

Dean nodded and stuck the flask back into his pocket and zipped it closed. Just as he was bracing Sam’s head a lumbering dickwad came up, smirking, flanked by his buddies. Sam looked up at them and sighed.

“Go away, Derek. You already got enough to be brought in on assault and battery charges.”

“This the guy that did this sweetheart?” Dean growled, hand sliding to move to his gun in his waistband.

“Dean. You’re stalling. Just set my nose already.”

After repositioning his hands and an agreed count of ‘three’, Dean shoved Sam’s nose back into its proper spot halfway through ‘one’. Sam groaned and flopped back on the sidewalk, batting away Dean’s hands. Patting and fiddling with his pockets it took Sam a few seconds to pull his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and stuck one black papered stick between his lips.

“Don’t exhale through your nose. You’ll just irritate everything.”

“Yeah, yeah mama bear.” Sam snarked.

“Nah, you call me daddy.” Dean grinned. “Breathing ok?”

“Yeah just stings a bit.”

“Well, that’s not the worst thing.”

“Maybe you should just stop breathing Winchester.” Derek sneered, drawing Dean’s attention away from Sam.

Dean whipped around, green fury burning in his eyes. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over your stupidity.” He marched up to ‘Derek’ hand on the grip of his Colt.

“Dean.” Sam sighed. “Gimme.”

“But Sam-”

“But nothin’ Dean. You’re not shooting anyone.”

“Can I slice ‘em some?”

“Nothing bigger than ten stitches.”

“Oooh goody.” Dean grinned, a wicked, cold grin that one would see on the face of a serial killer maybe.

Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t need any faggot pretending to be ‘dangerous’-”  
Dean swung his fist and it collided with Derek’s jaw, his teeth biting through his tongue. “Maybe you should shut the fuck up and learn some respect.” He growled, hand once again going for his gun, only to find it not at the small of his back. Turning around he saw Sam, holding his Colt.

“Sam!” Dean huffed, giving him the ‘are you serious’.

“Dean I’m not burying another body like Albuquerque.”

“That was desert dirt though, all packed and dry.”

“Wet dirt isn’t any better!”

“Gimme my gun, Sam!”

“No, you’re gonna walk away, take me to the ER, I’m gonna get a cast on my arm, we’re gonna go to the cops and get his ass thrown in jail for assault and battery.”

“Sam.”

“Dean. C’mon, I’ll let you do the thing you like.”

“You mean-”

“Yes, with the pie.”

“Shit. Should ask Bobby if he has pie pans.”

“You get one pie, Dean. C’mon I need more alcohol for this shit.”

“One more?”

“You’re asking me like you’re the sub. Have fun with it, just hurry up or you’ll be fucking me tomorrow instead of tonight.”

Dean turned back to Derek. “I’ll be back for you.” And with a swift kick to Derek’s jaw, a ‘clunkpop’ noise coming from it, Dean went back to his bike, helping Sam settle onto it and stealing a soft, careful kiss. “Let’s get you fixed up,” Dean mumbled around Sam’s cigarette that he’d stolen, puffing on it steadily as he helped Sam get his helmet on. By now most of the students had left, the fight they’d been hoping for derailed. Had it not been derailed though, it probably would’ve ended with Derek lying in a puddle of his own blood.  
“No one. Not God, not the devil, no one, lays a finger on my Sammy.” Dean said, leaning over Derek after helping Sam.

Dean kicked the starter and revved the engine, listening to a few people scurry off before whipping the bike around and racing away from the school, Sam’s good arm wrapped tightly around his middle. They made it to the ER in half the time it usually would, mostly because Dean was pissed and driving like it, but he would occasionally slow and go the speed limit because Sam couldn’t hold on like he normally could. He found the closest spot and parked, letting Sam relax a bit as he locked up the bike and then helped him up, reaching up to unfasten Sam’s helmet and tuck it safely under his arm that he didn’t wrap around the taller’s waist. 

Dean couldn’t recall exactly when Sam got taller, maybe a few months ago, maybe a week ago, who knows, he just knew that in July he didn’t have to reach up as far to unfasten Sam’s helmet, maybe it was all that Florida sun, feeding into Sam’s growth like a sunflower. He wasn’t much taller, maybe an inch with some weird change attached to it.

He let Sam lean on him as much as he wanted, knowing that Sam was feeling the whiskey that he’d drunk by now, as he got them inside. Dean got the paperwork, Sam got a wristband, and they sat. Dean filling out the paperwork and Sam just leaning against him, most likely exhausted from the day of constant pain.

They spent three hours at the hospital. Sam’s right arm was broken in two places, right above his wrist and right below his elbow. They finally got Sam settled on the bike, his new cast blending in but bulking up his jacket too much that he had to swap for Dean’s which was big on him still. Of course, they were late for dinner when they pulled up, Bobby and John both meeting them on the porch, John on crutches and Bobby’s arms crossed with a grim frown on his face.

“You boys wanna tell us why you’re over an hour late for dinner?” Bobby groused, almost puffed out like a bird that fluffs out its feathers.

“Sam got the shit beat out of him, arm’s broken in two spots.” Dean sighed, helping Sam steady himself, the shot of morphine the nurses gave him making him more wobbly than the whiskey. “Nose is broken too, two cracked ribs. Signs of a barely even there concussion. I took him to the ER after school because apparently, the nurse is a fucking idiot that told Sam that he was fine, despite his nose and arm being obviously broken.”

Bobby softened a bit as he took in Sam, eyes a little glassy and face a little pinched, even with the morphine the ribs hurt. John looked at his youngest, sympathy in his expression. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

Sam looked at his dad, knowing that it was him that asked, but having a bit of trouble fully processing the question. “Would’a gotten expelled, nobody’d take me after shit like that.” 

Dean frowned and ushered Sam inside, telling the older men that it could wait until Sam was at least sitting down. They all shuffled indoors, shutting the late September chill out and the smell of pot roast in. Sam’s stomach made a sound much like Chewbacca, making Dean laugh and Sam join in, poking his stomach gently to make it stop making noises. “Didn’t you eat lunch today kiddo? Sound like we don’t feed you.” Dean jokes, pulling a chair out for John so he could seat himself at the table while Bobby pulled the roast out of the oven. Sam settled in his usual spot next to Dean’s spot, as Dean helped Bobby set the table and add the sides. Dean wasn’t big on vegetables, but when Bobby made pot roast he’d eat as many as he could squeeze into his stomach, normally there weren’t any leftovers when it was just the boys and Bobby, with John there for once there wouldn’t be anything left.

Dean helped Sam get food on his plate, adding mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and onions, and parsnips, steamed peas with butter; Sam liked them but Dean steered clear, and beef so tender that it could be cut with a spoon. After everyone had food, and for John and Sam, non-alcoholic drinks due to pain medication instructions, they dug in, eating in silence for the most part until everyone was nearly finished with their first helping.

“So tell us what happened Sam, you’re better trained than any of those fools in that school, how’d you end up looking like a crash test dummy?” Bobby prodded, waving his fork in a gesture to Sam’s injuries. John paused in his eating to watch and wait for Sam to answer. Dean pushed a carrot around, and Sam shifted uncomfortably.

“That’s kinda the problem, I could’ve hurt him enough that he’d end up in the ICU. I was pissed, got a few good hits in, but he threw me into the lockers, one of ‘em was open and that’s how I cracked my ribs, didn’t help that he got a good kick into them after that. Broke my nose first, used my arm to hide my face so he couldn’t do much more to it.” Sam pushed his food around, not nearly as hungry as he had been. “After he broke my arm and I kept it in front of my face to keep him from getting to it he went for my stomach. FYI, steel-toed boots are murder on your nuts.”

They sat quietly for a minute, all three adults not sure what to say, and Sam just trying to think of any way to avoid more questions.

Finally, John cleared his throat. “So why’d he do it anyway? I mean usually, there’s a reason behind someone just beating the shit out of another person.”

Sam bit and chewed his lip, went to get more food for his plate and fumbled the serving spoon with his right hand, the cast preventing any successful attempts before Sam’s morphine dazed brain finally caught up, huffed, and switched hands, slopping a little mashed potato on the table. Dean carefully took the spoon away and added to Sam’s plate for him, his knee gently pressing against Sam’s thigh under the table to calm him down and offer support.

Sam finally shrugged and told Dean that what he’d added to the plate was enough, and fumbled to work his fork with his left hand. “He called me a goth faggot, said I would probably shoot the school up if they didn’t beat me down into submission or I was dead. Told me to kill myself.”

Sam could hear Dean’s breathing hitch, and no doubt he was aching to go find Derek and beat the tar out of him worse than what Sam got, and no doubt he’d have to do his best to keep Dean in bed tonight. John looked pale, almost green around the gills. Bobby looked like he was ready to march to the school and sling every word he knew at the principal until things were fixed just how he wanted them.

“So what happened to the other kid? How long ’s he suspended?” Bobby finally grit out. 

Sam pressed his lips together and cleared his throat, taking a sip of the orange juice in his glass. “I’m suspended for three weeks. I’m allowed to go in and get the work I’ll be missing tomorrow but other than that I’m not allowed on school property.” He took a deep breath and bit his lip. “Derek has detention for the next three days.”

The roar that raised from all three other occupants around the table was deafening. It took Sam pounding his fist on the table like a gavel for five solid minutes to get the three hunters to sit back down and shut up. “I’ve already tried with the principal, he claimed that there was nothing to be done, saying that I violate X number of dress codes and that there’s nothing that says that another student can be held accountable for an, and I quote ‘accident such as the one that befell me’. Derek claimed that he ‘accidentally’ shoved me down the stairs. So shut up, sit down, and just fucking hope that three weeks passes quickly.” Sam shouted, angry and tired, in pain and fed up. 

When they finished, Bobby and Dean washed up, Dean sent Sam off to do his homework so he could at least turn that in when he took him into the school to collect his work. Dean and Bobby both spoke softly, quiet enough that Sam couldn’t pick up on the actual words they were saying, but it didn’t take a genius to know what they were talking about. Dean came in before Bobby, parked himself next to Sam on the couch and looked over his shoulder to watch him do his homework, double checking the math problems in his head while Sam kept going, not finding many that were wrong, and pointing out where he’d been wrong with a silent tap of his finger on at the step.

Two hours later, Sam had his homework done, Dean dozing off on his shoulder when he started on the history and English, subjects that Dean didn’t particularly like and would only half-ass when he was still in school, even if he knew the material perfectly. That thought alone broke Sam’s heart. Everyone looked at Dean and saw a hot guy with a charming smile that made girls panties wet and hearts beat faster. The hunting community saw a man who could kill a nest of vampires and lop off heads without blinking an eye, take down werewolves and rougaru, selkies and ghouls, wraiths and shapeshifters. Dean was the go-to since John tended to not form the best relationships with other hunters and Dean was far more friendly in comparison. It pissed Sam off when people wrote Dean off as just another pretty face, just another meathead hunter, sure, Dean pushed research off as much as he could, but ultimately Sam didn’t blame him. Some lore books were boring as shit and offered nothing new to what they already knew, plus it took hours of meticulous work to glean even the smallest reward from the books if any reward at all. Sitting for hours on end and reading books older than their combined ages could be a serious turn off for hunting. Still, Dean was fantastic with numbers and strategy, and when people went to Sam for those things, he usually sent them to Dean instead.

Gently, Sam nudged Dean with his shoulder and gave him a look, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Dean smiled tiredly and nodded. Dean had been spending the hours while Sam was in school working on cars for Bobby, he was probably more tired than he let on, and Sam knew that. They said goodnight and headed upstairs to their shared room. Some years ago Bobby offered to get them two twins instead of the single queen. When Dean had pointed out that he barely fit jammed into a twin and that Sam would probably end up just as tall or taller than him and definitely wouldn’t fit into a small twin bed, and that neither of them minded sharing even as teens and young adults. Bobby just gave them a shrug and a ‘well okay’ look paired with something neither really caught muttered under his breath.

Teeth brushed and Dean showered because Sam just didn’t have the energy to deal with his cast and shower, they changed into pajamas and crawled into the bed, Sam curled around Dean as tightly as he could. “De?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t bitch to anyone about my suspension.”

“Sam-”

“No.”

“Sammy,” Dean sighed, running his fingers down over his face before starting to pet Sam’s hair and gently tugging tangles out. “I don’t care how many dress codes you’ve broken, I don’t care if the principal thinks rainbows are how the gays ‘turn them young people into homos’ level of homophobic. You did not do anything to deserve three weeks suspension.”

“Dean, I don’t wanna fight it. I couldn’t care less about the suspension really, I mean it sucks I’m gonna have to do all this work to keep up with what I’m missing, but at least I wasn’t expelled.”

“Fine, I won’t argue to get your suspension shortened.”

“Leave Derek alone, if you guys interfere it’ll make it worse.”

“But-”

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

“I’ll cut you off.”

“No you won’t, besides not like we can do that much right now anyway. Staying at Bobby’s has some serious disadvantages.”

“I know, but at least we can relax a little. This place is so warded and we don’t have to worry what’s in the cabinets or fridge if we can still eat for the next week without skipping meals.” Sam poked Dean’s ribs at the last bit. He knew that Dean would skip sometimes, and if Dean skipped more than once, or tried to, Sam would insist that Dean eat and he’d skip, claiming he’d eaten a lot for lunch at school.

Dean sighed heavily and cupped Sam’s cheek, tilting his face up. “I have never done anything that would hurt me if it wasn’t necessary. Don’t ever think differently. And I should beat the fucking life out of Derek for telling you to kill yourself and accuse you of wanting to shoot up schools. Pretty sure there are defamation charges somewhere in there.” He muttered as he pet through Sam’s hair.

They made out a little, hands only wandering underneath shirts until they fell asleep, lips a little bruised but nothing that would be noticeable in the morning. 

The next morning Sam took his time, dressing in what he knew he couldn’t wear to school if he were actually going to be there to attend classes. Tugging on tight black jeans they’d ripped up and cut up the side to pull back together with corseting going all the way up to the waistband and showing the bare hip that declared that Sam definitely wasn’t wearing underwear, platform combat boots that secured with laces and buckles, a fishnet shirt and a mesh one over top, his oversized leather jacket that he could actually pull on over his black cast; studded thoroughly with spikes that most definitely broke dress code, and his belt that they’d made with bullets they’d found loose in the Impala’s trunk. It took them hours making sure that the rounds weren’t live anymore, carefully drilling holes through the casings and pouring out the gunpowder, saving it for salt rounds and silver bullets, but the belt was perfect.

He messed with his hair, getting it just right of ‘I rolled out of bed after good sex but I’m not homeless’ mussed, brushed his teeth and grabbed his backpack. He’d need it to carry all the shit he’d have to bring back. Sam stumbled downstairs, blindly grabbing Dean’s coffee and taking a sip before handing it back, then grabbing one of Bobby’s travel mugs and pouring a generous amount of strong coffee into it. Bobby made coffee that could kill a man’. Sam had watched the grizzled hunter make the coffee once, he filled the entire filter as full as possible, added half the amount of water that should go in, ran the maker, made the other half after the grounds had been pressed to release all the life-giving liquid, then repeated the steps to make a full pot. It was strong, too strong for most people, he’d heard hunters curse Bobby for making coffee so strong that was almost undrinkable. In that same breath hunters also thanked Bobby for letting them know how to make those emergency ‘I’ve got the cops from three different states on my ass and can’t stop to sleep until I’m in Mexico or Canada and I’m in Virginia’ cups of coffee. A few times Sam had to make the coffee for their dad so they could get from Maine to Mexico with as few breaks as possible. The FBI hadn’t been happy that they’d been able to slip off at some point and reenter the country without detection.

Sam added some whiskey to his coffee, giving John a challenging glare when he got a raised eyebrow. John just shook his head and returned to munching on one of Bobby’s infamous breakfast sandwiches. Speaking of the greasy heaven, Bobby handed him one wrapped in parchment paper and foil. Dean had his own, wrapped the same, half eaten in his hand, another travel mug in his other hand, the Impala’s keys dangling from a finger. “Let’s get this shit show over with. C’mon Sam.” 

Together they shuffled out of the house and into the Impala, Sam holding his coffee and Dean’s between his legs, making sure they didn’t get mixed around and letting Dean eat while he drove. It didn’t take long to get to the school, and while that was nice for a regular ‘shit we’re late’ drive, Sam almost wished it would take longer. He didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want to pick up his work for the next three weeks, he didn’t want to deal with the whispers and the stares. Still, he rather pick up the work and do it than be weeks behind. They left the car, parking in the visitor’s spaces right in front, coffee in hand and sandwiches gone. 

Sam kept Dean on his right, not trusting anyone to not bump into his broken arm. It still hurt and all he wanted to do was drink and numb the pain. Whiskey was the Winchester brand ibuprofen, even if Dean and John didn’t particularly like that Sam wouldn’t pass up a drink. Besides, he was eighteen next May, Dean had been well on the alcoholism wagon by his eighteenth birthday.

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s middle, his hand slipping under his jeans and cupping his ass. “Dean.”

“Sam.”

“Your hand.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

“But?”

“But we can’t fuck at Bobby’s.”

“Who said anything about going straight back to Bobby’s?”

“Car sex? We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Damn right. Baby’s leather is missing a very important smell.”

“Gross.”

“Nah, I like how you smell after I fuck you.”

“You mean gross.”

“Sam you’re never gross.”

“Except when I had food poisoning three months ago.”

“Okay yeah, that was gross.”

“Couldn’t fuck me for a few weeks.”

“Nope. But we still had fun.”

“Yeah, never thought I’d be able to fit all of you in my throat.”

“I told you, just takes some patience and practice.”

“You can’t leave marks when I’m wearing this outfit.”(184)

“Sure I can, just not where anyone can see them, and you like them that way.”

“Fuck, yeah, I do.” Sam sighed heavily before they came to the first classroom.  
Mr. Hill hated Sam, mostly because he was gay and goth, but also that he was easily breezing through the class since he’d already learned the material at another school. So when he walked in, Dean’s arm still wrapped around his waist. Sam could see the blood creeping up in Mr. Hill’s face, which was normally red in the first place. He was a short, rotund man who had a mustache like a walrus and beady little eyes. It was apparent that this would be unpleasant at the least.

“Mr. Winchester. I was told you were suspended.”

“I just came to get my work for the next three weeks and drop off my homework.”

“Well you won’t be getting it, you’ll have to make it up.”

“Principal Thomas told me to pick up my work today, so I’ll be picking it up. Unless you can’t provide it.”

“I won’t provide your work, I can, but won’t.”

“I see. Then I guess I’ll talk to her and let her know.” Sam pulled his backpack around and dug into it, shuffling things and pulling out the work. “I finished the whole study packet, I’ll just leave it with you then.”

“No, you’ll have to turn it in when you come back.”

“Now you’re being absurd. It was due today, I am turning it in.” Sam said tightly, presenting the thick stack of paper stapled together again.

“You may only turn in work during your class period. Now leave.”

“I seriously doubt any other teacher will feel that way but thank you for refusing to accept completed work, especially with so many witnesses. It’ll make it much harder for you to fail me since you are denying me the equal opportunity all other students are receiving.” Sam kept his cool, all the while Dean looked ready to light the man in front of them on fire. 

“C’mon De, the sooner we get this over with the sooner you can get me naked.”

“Sam, you should be able to get your work, as much as I want you with fewer clothes on, I don’t want you to fail baby.” 

“It’s not a big deal, it’ll only take me a day or two to get caught up anyway.”

“I’d say you’re right, that we’ll just get stuff taken care of then, but your teacher is a fucking dick. I bet that all the other students wouldn’t have this problem, and you know how much it pisses me off when people single you out baby.” Dean rubbed Sam’s hip as he gave Mr. Hill the glare usually reserved for monsters that said something about Sam that Dean didn’t like. Death glare would be putting it mildly.

“Dean, I don’t give a single fuck, in three weeks we’ll probably be somewhere in New Mexico because dad’s getting that look again.”

“Yeah, probably. Oooh, I hope we go south, means we can fuck outdoors for a while longer.”

“Oh no, no no no, last time you wanted to have sex outside down south I ended up with mosquito bites everywhere.” Sam huffed, then stuffed his stuff back into his backpack and shrugging it onto one shoulder. “C’mon, I wanna get home soon, I haven’t drunk enough to deal with this shit. And you promised me a bottle of tequila yesterday when you set my nose.” Sam poked Dean’s side as they wandered out of the room and through the half-filled hallways.

Dean smiled and rubbed the back of his head. “You remember that huh?”

“I wasn’t all that drunk and the pain meds weren’t that strong.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll get you a bottle. Small bottle.”

“You promised Patron, those bottles aren’t all that small.”

“Gotta keep it in my duffle though, you’re too young to possess it.”

“Fine.”

They spend the next twenty minutes gathering Sam’s school work. By the time they were done Dean was carrying Sam’s backpack and grumbling at how the bag probably weighed as much as Sam did with all the work that was crammed into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, I know, I'm sorry. I've been a little busy, my little brother's 21st birthday is on the 17th and my sister is coming home with her boyfriend, and it's a good 6-hour drive for them. I've been running around trying to coordinate plans so that I can get everyone to see my sister and my brother while my sister is here since it'll probably be Christmas until we see her again. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, might be shorter than normal but I've been lacking the motivation to write lately. I have a shorter work in progress, it'll be pretty light-hearted and funny I hope, so keep an eye out for some Bunker shenanigans.
> 
> Anyway, I've posted most of what's already written and unless I really get slapped in the face with ideas and motivation things are gonna slow down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam passes out from a migraine, or at least that's what they think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm super sorry this is late, I wanted to get it out on Thursday, but our wifi router died and we had to figure out how to order a new one and wait for it. It's back now, and we're catching up on things, like emails and junk. Anywho, on with the chapter.

Sam’s backpack was tossed into the back seat and soon they were roaring out of the parking lot and heading downtown. Dean swung by the local Dairy Queen, they got fries and shakes, Dean got a vanilla shake and Sam got strawberry. Dean had admitted once that watching Sam drink strawberry shakes made something in him tingle and snap, something about the color of the shake was so innocent, and Sammy was his innocent baby. So Sam drank strawberry shakes every time, without fail, and most of the time he ended up with Dean cumming so deep inside of him that it’d be leaking out of him for days.

They drove out to the park, parked Baby in an area that wasn’t frequented, and crawled into the back seat. Heated kisses taste like strawberries and salted vanilla, fevered hands paw off clothing and shove them into the footwell. Dean bites and sucks and marks all along Sam’s back, soft skin pale with that gentle golden undertone. 

It was always a struggle to not slip and smack their heads off the roof of the Impala, but they’d figured out the trick to having great sex in her. 

Sam, being as bendy as he is, would lean backward over the front seat just a little, hips angled so that Dean could get the angle right. Fucking in the Impala was hard work, making love was much easier in her backseat, but they weren’t feeling the soft and tender right then. Heavy breathing and sweaty bodies colliding as Sam whined, mewled and pleaded, Dean growled and grunted as his fingers bruised Sam’s hips in efforts to hold onto him. It didn’t take very long for them to both cum, Sam’s foot slipping off the edge of the back seat and causing him to slid down hard into Dean’s thrusting hips and force them both to collapse on the leather. They’d been too impatient and horny to find something to lay down on the seat, so sweaty skin stuck to the supple leather, worn soft and comfortable in all the right spots.

Dean cradled Sam to his chest, fingers tracing along the contours of Sam’s abs, enjoying the afterglow as Sam dozed off. Sam tended to fall asleep after sex if he felt safe and could lay down, otherwise he would be a little ray of sunshine. Dean loved the quiet moments after sex with Sam, his baby all soft and sated, tucked close and safe in his arms. There was nothing better than the smell of their union mingling with the familiar scent of the Impala, the outside world barely existing their bubble.

Everything seemed to just slow down when they were cuddled together, naked and only their jackets covering them from indecently exposing themselves to anyone walking by, the Impala keeping their secret. Maybe it was just Dean’s imagination, but Baby always seemed to purr a little louder, a little sweeter, after they’d made love in the only home they’d ever known.

Eventually, Sam woke up, and they had to get dressed. With reluctant kisses, they agreed they needed to head back to Bobby’s and they couldn’t leave the Impala smelling like sex, and neither of them could really smell like sex either. Dean’s shirt had cum stains on it already, so while cleaning up Sam he just let him use his t-shirt, thanking himself for wearing overshirts most of the time that he could button up and hide the stains. Sam rolled down the windows as Dean found Sam’s underwear. Elbows bumped into shoulders and ribs as they struggled to slip on their underwear, or in Sam’s case since he didn’t wear any under the pants he’d chosen for the day, into their pants. Sam muttered something about having to prewash his pants before they went through the regular wash cycle, and Dean chuckled softly, nipping at Sam’s earlobe and whispering “but you love my cum leaking out of you, don’t you, princess?” and slid out of the back seat and into the cool October air to straighten his clothes the rest of the way.

Sam couldn’t help but smile to himself and shake his head, making a mental note to have Dean get him a new buttplug since he lost the one he’d had at Disney World. As soon as they were presentable they slid into the front seat and headed back to Bobby’s.

When they pulled in Bobby was out in the garage, Dean waved and Bobby held up a wrench, a sign that told Dean to park and head over to help him with whatever he was fixing or scrapping. Dean nodded and went ahead, parking Baby in her spot partially shaded by the house. With a quick look, he made sure that nobody could see before pulling Sam over and kissing him softly. “I’ll probably be helping Bobby for the rest of the day, don’t have too much fun without me.” Dean winked before getting out and heading back down the driveway to the garage.

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered “jerk” under his breath before grabbing his backpack and heading inside, determined to finish at least a third of the work he had before he went to bed.

John was mostly asleep in the recliner when Sam came in and started spreading things out on the coffee table, sorted by subject and what would be due first.

“You guys were gone a while.” John mused, half asleep and slightly slurred from the strong painkillers.

“Yeah, well one of my teachers refused to let me have any of the work that I’d be missing so I had to convince the other teacher to get me the work since y’ know in like a month we’ll probably be somewhere else if your leg cooperates. It’s whatever, do you need anything while I’m up? Gonna grab my Walkman and listen to music while I work.” Sam huffed, grunting as he fumbled with a pencil, tossing it down before getting up and heading to the stairs.

“Somethin’ to drink would be great, these pain meds make me really thirsty.” 

“Got it. I think there’s Coke and orange juice in the fridge.”

“Coke.”

“Read my mind.” Sam tossed over his shoulder before jogging upstairs and grabbing his Walkman and a couple of cassettes and ditching his jacket. His ribs were a mottled mosaic of sickly bruises, black and deep plum in the worst spots, spattered with blue edged in a grotesque green that always reminded Sam of mental institutions and how they all seemed to have this “calming” green color on their walls that really just looked like half-digested pea soup. Sam dug around in Dean’s bag for his favorite flannel shirt and slipped it on over his fishnet clad torso, the familiar scent of leather and cedar, Marlboro reds; soft pack because the hard one would get crushed anyway and soft pack was always a few cents cheaper, enveloping Sam into a little piece of Dean. Dean always meant safety to Sam, so Sam always sought comfort from Dean or things that he could relate without thinking to Dean’s presence.

Making sure that only the bruising that was noticeable was what he’d gotten from his beat down and not because Dean was a possessive bastard that liked leaving hickies in spots that someone might see them. Shuffling off to the stairs and rubbing his temples, feeling one of his infamous headaches coming on. Staggering down the stairs, Sam grunted in pained frustration, bumping into the wall and going right to the kitchen, grabbing two Cokes and a bottle of generic ibuprofen. The headache was hitting him fast and hard, but that wasn’t uncommon with mild concussions, still, he needed to work on the materials he’d been given. Which meant he couldn’t have a headache leaving him on the sidelines. Handing John both cans, he sighed and gave him a look, silently asking him to open the can for him. Out of all the simple things he could get his left hand to do, tweaking Dean’s nipples, holding a machete just right to decapitate a vampire, finger himself open, he couldn’t get his fingers to cooperate with soda tabs.

John smiled and cracked open one can before handing it back to Sam. “Still can’t get your left fingers to open cans huh?”

“It’s the weirdest thing, bottles are no problem, can pop the top off a beer, shoot left handed, load a magazine left-handed, but easy stuff like serving up some food with a spoon or cracking open a can….” Sam sighed heavily and glared at his left fingers, free and unencumbered by a plaster prison.

“I couldn’t open the ring box with my left hand.” John hummed, smiling softly and looking into the distance. “When I proposed to your mother, the real time, not the time I just kinda said it, when I really asked with the whole thing, the ring and all, I had practiced and practiced but had to switch it so I’d open the stupid little box with my right hand. Just so happened I broke my fingers on my right hand the day I proposed, made reservations at a fancy restaurant, went for a walk in the park, hand all wrapped up and box in my left hand. It was a mess, but your mother, God, she was laughing the whole time. She called me an idiot and took the ring before I could even ask. Told me to get up before she had to marry me on the ground.”

Sam sat in silence, a slightly awed shock on his face as he listened. John never talked about Mary, ever. Unless it was to use her death to further his crusade.

When he realized John wasn’t going to say any more than he already had, Sam turned to his work, leaning against the edge of the couch and popping three ibuprofen tablets and chasing it down with the semi-sweet cola.

Two hours later and the headache wasn’t going away, it was only worse. At this point, Sam had to have John turn the tv off and he’d pulled the over shirt over his head, half of his work completed and laying next to him on the floor. 

A sudden, sharp pain hit Sam straight in the temple, feeling like someone was boring into his brain with a needle and was trying to perform a lobotomy. Hissing and letting out a tiny whimper, Sam let himself lay down on the floor and hide further from the light that was barely streaming in from the dust-caked windows. 

“Sam?”

“No. Shh.”

“Son, let’s get you up to bed.” John tried, gruff voice almost soft enough to be quiet.

“It’ll be worse if I move right now, plus I think I’m gonna have to have De carry me upstairs…” Sam groaned, hating that he had to admit that, especially to their dad.

“Are you sure?”

“Dad, no offense, but you can barely stand on your own, and I can’t exactly walk very well right now.”

“Right. I’ll go get Dean.”

“No, it’s fine, Bobby’ll probably be in soon anyway to make dinner, just tell him to get Dean. I’ll be alright until Dean can come in, besides I’ll probably do better with food in my stomach.” Sam blanched at the idea of eating anything, his stomach was roiling in displeasure at the sharp intensity from the migraine’s sudden appearance. “Ugh, actually no, nevermind, no food. I’ll just toss it and make it worse. Oh fuck, hand me the trash can.”

No sooner than John shoved the old metal can under Sam’s waiting outstretched fingers and Sam was face first in the trash can, hurling up everything his body had to offer. Vaguely he heard John hobble off on his crutches.

Exhausted and in pain, Sam only barely managed to shove the trash can away, flopping back down. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, the pain making time do weird things. The next thing he knew Dean was in the room and then it was dark.

It felt like he’d been out for a while, and when Sam woke up it was much darker outside than it was when he’d passed out, the sun was almost completely gone, the deep indigo of early night settling in before the deep near black navy would come out and bedazzle herself with the millions of glittering stars. Sam sighed in relief when he noticed that Dean had made sure that there wouldn’t be any light creeping into the room when Sam woke up. 

Sighing heavily the youngest Winchester gently pawed at his eyes, rubbing away the last bits of exhaustion. Carefully, Sam shifted out of bed, being cautious as he sat up and started standing, knowing that sometimes his migraines would come back even worse if he got even remotely dizzy. Just as cautiously, he opened the door, relieved to see that Dean had made sure to turn out the light in the hall for him. Thankfully he knew Bobby’s house like the back of his hand and as well as he knew that Dean was the one, his one and only, and not just because the sex was astronomical, because the bond they shared went far beyond brothers, and light years beyond the bond of lovers. Stepping lightly, he made sure to lean against the wall while going down the stairs, knowing from experience that he’d need to keep the stairs from squeaking and creaking loudly until he was back to normal.

Sam could hear quiet chatter in the kitchen and the faint scraping of flatware against ceramic plates.

Blinking slowly, but frequently, Sam tried to adjust to the light in the rest of the house before walking into the more brightly lit kitchen and smiling at the scene in front of him, three hunters unaware just yet that he was watching. It was obvious to Sam that Dean had just started to relax, as he had just started heaping another helping of what looked and smelled to be spaghetti with Bobby’s famous meatballs and a beer with maybe four sips out of it. John was already staring at what Sam guessed to be his second or third round of spaghetti, and Bobby was slowly working his way through what was left of his first serving.

It didn’t take long for Dean to notice his presence leaning in the doorway, a fond smile tugging on his lips.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, stopping in the middle of trying to encourage a meatball onto his plate.

“Good to see you’re awake, boy, you scared the livin’ hell out of us.” Bobby rumbled in what would be a loving manner if one knew the gruff hunter.

“Sam, come sit down before you pass out on us again.” Dean mother henned, getting up and ushering Sam to his usual spot at the table, a plate, and utensils laid out just in case the youngest was able to join them for dinner.

“Yeah, it smells great, hopefully, some food will help get rid of the last of this headache.”

“It was some headache kiddo, scared me to death when you passed out,” John muttered, passing the garlic bread to Sam while Sam allowed Dean to fuss further and serve him some food. Sam plucked a piece out of the basket and made Dean stop heaping pasta and meatballs onto his plate before it got unmanageable.

“Dean I can’t eat more than what you’ve already given me, don’t give me that face, c’mon sit down, I’ll get more if I’m still hungry.”

“Yeah but your arm kinda doesn’t do very well with trying to get food.”

“And the only way that’ll change is if I make myself do it.”

“Maybe wait for a night when we’re not eating spaghetti?”

“I gotta agree with Dean on this kid, don’t want to see any meatballs go flyin’ through my kitchen, Rumsfeld don’t need any of the good stuff.” Bobby weighed in, giving Sam a knowing look.

Sam may or may not have let Rumsfeld have a meatball or something of the like every so often if they were at Bobby’s for an extended period of time, and Bobby always griped about how the damn dog seemed to always end up a little fatter with Sam around. Which wasn’t true, in fact, Rumsfeld was probably trimmer whenever Sam was around, taking the dog out with him on runs and playing with him to keep him alert and healthy. It was Dean that let the large dog have at the bacon grease to make washing the dishes easier when he made breakfast for them all.

“Alright, but listen De, I’m pretty sure this is all I’m gonna eat. Spaghetti tends to be one of the worst things to throw up, and if that migraine comes back, I don’t want to toss any more than what I’ve already got on my plate.” Sam pointed and waved the fork at his brother, giving him the stern ‘do not give me more food because I don’t want a repeat of Wilkes Barre’ look.

Dean sighed but returned to eating his own dinner, keeping a concerned and watchful eye on Sam. Dinner continued as normal, just with a slightly more worried Dean.

After they sat down and helped Sam work through a large portion of the math work he had been given; which Dean basically just did it for Sam, only taking some direction when he would get stuck, writing for Sam since he could only do so much until his wrist and fingers locked up. When Dean muttered about his brain melting and dripping out of his ears like some cheap horror flick, Sam coaxed his lover away from the work and went on to all his reading assignments, leaning comfortably against Dean and the back of the couch as he picked up the beaten and battered copy of Hamlet, happy to work on his English assignment until Dean started falling asleep. 

Two hours later and Dean’s gentle snoring could be heard, filling the room with a little more noise than the tv droning on with the latest football game that John and Bobby were watching. Sam smiled to himself as he told himself that he’d finish the chapter he was in and save the rest for later and get Dean off to bed.

Fifteen minutes later Sam had lured Dean into bed, both of them stripping and changing into t-shirts and flannel pajama pants before brushing their teeth, washing faces and then hiding away in their blankets. 

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m like 85% sure I’m alright. Why?”

“It must’a been some migraine baby, you were whimpering and your nose was bleeding.” Dean slowly pets through Sam’s hair, pulling his gangly limbs closer into a tighter embrace and resting his chin on top of Sam’s head.

“There wasn’t any blood when I woke up.” Sam shrugged, dismissing Dean’s worry.

“That’s because Bobby cleaned you up while I helped Dad back downstairs, he insisted on coming up but got three steps down before he got stuck.”

“Stubborn old goat.” Sam huffed, only mildly amused at their dad’s actions.

“He was worried baby, we all were. We almost called for an ambulance, thought you were having a seizure or something.”

“I’m alright Dean, promise.” Sam didn’t say the “hopefully” but Dean heard it loud and clear in the only half confident voice that he’d come to know meant that Sam had a strong feeling that he was actually fine, but whatever it is that was going on was just starting.

“You tell me if you start feeling like that again, you hear me? If I’m not right there then you tell Dad, or Bobby, have them get me, I don’t care if I’m in the middle of something; I’ll be there right away. Promise me.”

“I promise De, now c’mon, it’s been a long day, we’re both tired. Sleep.”

“You’re right, goodnight sweetheart.”

“Goodn’ght De, love you.”

“Love you too, Princess.” Dean murmured, curling his arms tightly around Sam’s middle. It didn’t take long for Dean to drop off into slumber while Sam laid awake, worrying over the splitting migraine. Just as the blackness overtook over, Sam could’ve sworn he’d seen something; flickering and fleeting images.

He couldn’t place anything but shadows and colors, blurring, there had been an odd sound, maybe something like bar chatter; but distorted. 

It was driving Sam absolutely crazy, like having the melody of a song stuck in your head but not being able to quite place what the song was.

Hours passed, the more Sam focused on the blurs and shadows the more he heard of the sound, the more he focused on the noise the clearer the images became. As he focused, trying to put together pieces, the more the headache came back, it didn’t take long before Sam was wincing in pain, Dean snoring blissfully beside him, within half an hour he had to stop, his breathing was labored and he was dizzy yet again.

It was another late night for Sam, only managing to fall asleep shortly before the sun began to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's shorter than all the others, but it's also finished on my phone and not a computer, so I got kinda fed up with typing quicker than usual. I'll make up for it though. Next chapter might be up this week, depending on if I can crank it out.
> 
> Anyway, seems like Sam's migraine wasn't just a migraine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 2875

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's late. I KNOW. I'm sorry. It's also shorter. Buuuuut it's setting things up. Sooo... have fun.

Sam felt like half warmed and half frozen roadkill when he woke up the next day. His body ached in ways it only ever did when a hunt went sideways in the most spectacular of ways but he managed to walk away. His skin felt hot and tight, like it was halfway to being mummified, while his bones and organs felt frozen solid. A frustrated whine that quickly turned into a pained whimper left Sam’s throat, which brought to his attention felt both half swollen shut and like someone took sandpaper and decided that his esophagus needed a good sanding. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat and with every sound around him, even soft and gentle noises like his skin shifting against the sheets made his head hurt worse.

Sam slowly, carefully, curled into the fetal position and covered his head with the thick blankets on their bed, keeping his breathing as slow and deep as possible to keep the sound of the sheets shifting to a minimum, but to also make sure his lungs were expanding fully even though it twinged his cracked ribs. He knew that it was almost noon or not long after, he could hear Dean and Bobby in the kitchen, the smell of Dean’s legendary caramelized onion burgers drifting upstairs with their inviting aroma, which made Sam’s stomach both growl with hunger and churn with nausea. Whenever they stayed at Bobby’s they tried to let Dean make the burgers, they were worth every artery-clogging calorie, with caramelized onions, tomato and bacon jam, sharp cheddar and swiss blend melted just right, and potato rolls toasted lightly. Dean thought nobody knew the secret to his burger, bit Sam had known for a good few years now; Dean would use a little bourbon to caramelize the onions just right.

If Dean could make one thing really well, it was his burgers. Anything with meat and Dean could make it, as soon as there was a lack of it… let’s just say Dean made a birthday cake once and it wasn’t burnt, but somehow it ended up doing that thing that baking soda volcanos do when you add vinegar. It also had smelled something like fish and french fries. Sam had no idea how it’d happened, all that he knew is that Dean was forbidden from baking ever again.

Sam sighed silently, knowing that even if he could get out of bed he wouldn’t be able to eat lunch; even though he desperately wanted to since Dean’s burgers were a serious treat. It was times like these that Sam wished he could just send a paper airplane to Dean and tell him that his migraine was back and worse than before. Resigning himself to a whole day stuck in bed, Sam wiggled over to Dean’s side of the bed, comfortably cool instead of disgustingly warm like where he’d been laying. Switching the pillow for Dean’s was damn near a religious experience. The soft worn cotton felt so amazingly cool, like the kiss of cool water in scorching summer heat washing away the sun-baked sweat off your skin. 

At some point, he’d closed his eyes to avoid the minimal amount of light that still manages to filter through the blankets, and sometime after that, he’d dozed off. Sam woke up to the sound of Dean’s footsteps approaching the bed.

“Hey baby, you feeling okay?” Dean asked quietly, unsure of how bad Sam felt and not wanting to potentially make anything worse than it already was.

“Head hurts. Skin hurts. Bones hurt. Skin is hot and tight, bones feel frozen. Throat is sore, feels like sandpaper.” Sam managed to croak out as quietly as he could. He felt Dean sit on the edge of the bed and soon enough his brother’s hand was gently pressed to his forehead, feeling for a fever.

“No fever, you actually feel kinda cold. I’m gonna make you some warm honeyed whiskey and see if we can at least fix the whole throat situation.” Dean shifted as if to get up off the bed before Sam stopped him.

“De.”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“No whiskey, the stomach is angry.”

“You think you could do cider? Bobby got some of the good stuff, we could try that and maybe some saltines.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Hey Dean?”

“What is it?”

“The burgers smelled really good, I just-“

“I’ll save yours, baby, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks. Would you come and cuddle with me after? Your touch is like the only thing that feels good.” Sam asked shyly, just barely peeking out of his blanket horde. 

“You got it darlin’, I’ll be up soon, try to rest some more. I’ll let dad and Uncle Bobby know you’re not doing any better today.” Sam could hear the smile and worry in Dean’s voice.

Sam dozed off again while waiting for Dean to come back.

Dean let their dad and Bobby know that Sam was sick with a migraine again while they ate lunch, saving Sam’s burger as promised. Retrieving the cider and saltines he warmed the cider and stirred it with a cinnamon stick before quickly washing his hands and eating three of the bland crackers to rid himself of the smell of the onions; just to be safe so he wouldn’t accidentally make Sam sicker.

Dean carefully brought a big mug of warm apple cider to Sam and the package of saltines, quietly slipping into their room.

Seeing Sam asleep, Dean decided that he’d let him get some more rest and set the cider and saltines on the bedside table, grabbed a book, took off his boots and set them in their designated spot as quietly as he could, and settled in next to Sam on the bed. Thankfully it was nice and sunny outside, for the time being, they were supposed to get some rain soon, and he didn’t need to turn on any lights to see what he was reading.

An hour passed and the cider was cold again, Dean had set the book aside to listen to music since the daylight that had been streaming through the window was now mostly gone with the coming of clouds that promised rain. Dean watched as the rain started pelting down and hitting the window, slowly, steadily. Gradually the storm became more and more intense, Sam sleeping through it despite the howling wind making the house shudder, even though it was reinforced with salted iron beams; they had redone all the wiring and plumbing in Bobby’s house a few summers ago and with great care, they’d installed iron beams that they’d superheated to adhere salt to them.

Bobby had been talking with Dean when they got here about making an iron devil’s trap around the house and burying it, allowing it to remain hidden. It would take a year or so for them to gather the materials, and longer to make it, but it was a good plan in general.

When the rain started turning into hail, Dean started to get worried, and Sam was still asleep. Only when the lighting and thunder started to intensify did Sam wake up, grumpy and half asleep, pissed that his nap was interrupted.

“The fuck? De?”

“Hey, so I think we need to go downstairs. Lights have been flickering and shit, get some comfy clothes on, I’ll grab the stuff we’ll need for a night downstairs, okay?” Dean murmured, pressing a kiss to Sam’s hair and handing him a bottle of Excedrin Migraine Extra Strength.

Sam sat there, bewildered for a moment and stared at the bottle before watching Dean gather up extra blankets and pillows, books and Walkman cassette players. The older couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s expression, something that you’d see on a puppy that’s barely awake and very confused.

“When’d it start raining like that?”

“It started raining about an hour and a half ago, just started getting really bad maybe twenty minutes ago, c’mon, clothes baby. Don’t want dad or Bobby to see all your hickies. Gonna think you’re a slut or somethin’.” Dean puffed, not appreciating the idea of someone else thinking of his Sammy being a slut. He didn’t want other people to think of Sam sucking someone else’s dick, or worse, fucking some girl. Sam was his. 

“Dean.” Sam chuckled, getting up and shuffling over and capturing Dean’s mouth in a soft kiss, not having to tilt their heads at all, just leaning in and laying one on the other. Dean had a feeling Sam would be taller than him, but that would be fine, he’d still be the more submissive. The thought of Sam, all tall and lean, taller than he is now, pinned under his own weight, wrists bound in that silky rope they’d splurged on; it was enough for Dean’s blood to run a little hotter and pull Sam into a deeper kiss. Hot and languid, a promise of what they’d do when they got the chance.

Sam was the one to break the kiss, sliding his hand along Dean’s shoulder and around to his chest, gently pressing him back to convey that now wasn’t the time, a curve of fingers leading to his short, blunt nails scraping across Dean’s sensitive nipple telling him that he wished that they could, right here, right now, but they couldn’t. One last, shorter, more chaste kiss, like the signature at the bottom of a letter, telling Dean that they’ll fix things first chance they get.

Unbeknownst to the two young men, their father had come upstairs, their bedroom door open just a crack, but wide enough for the gruff marine to see the tender exchange between his sons. John set his jaw, a small click-pop coming from the joint as he clenched his jaw tight and ground his teeth, silently slipping down the stairs. A self-righteous fire burning in his eyes.

A clap of thunder directly overhead shook the house so fantastically that it caused the brothers to separate fully and work on their tasks at hand.

Sam got dressed, his most comfortable pair of sweatpants, which he’d been given to by Dean for his birthday last year, the only present he could open in front of people. They were black, super soft and warm, perfect for sleeping in during a large amount of time they spent in climates that were too cold most of the year to sleep in underwear or nothing at all. They had white corset stitching along the seams, and the drawstring had bats printed on it, a subtle enough piece of goth clothing that John hadn’t even noticed, but Sam loved them. Plus right now with his broken arm, he’d need the ease of an elastic waistband for quick access for the bathroom. He’d fumbled with his button fly on his jeans the day before last when he’d been beaten to hell. Tugging on his ratty Ramones shirt, Sam huffed; his cast getting stuck halfway out of the sleeve and having to enlist Dean’s help to get it unstuck and sitting comfortably rolled up above the plaster.

Dean gathered everything, made sure that Sam was covered enough and wrapped him in one of his flannel shirts; which was almost small on Sam now with his most recent growth spurt, kissed his brother softly and sent him out and downstairs in front of him, just in case he dropped something.

Sam fiddled and tugged with the flannel sleeve, trying to get it to lay comfortably like his shirt, huffing at the constricting and the limiting feeling of the thick layers making it impossible to bend his elbow. When he and Dean shuffled into the living room they found Bobby behind the desk, hurricane lamps lit and burning steadily, providing enough light for him to read the massive tome in what looked to be Japanese. John, in one of the overstuffed and well-loved recliners, was in the corner, a bottle of Hunter’s Helper in hand, cap nowhere in sight; which meant that he had every intention of ingesting all of the contents.

Sam couldn’t help but stare down the bottle, angry grief burning in his sunflower ocean eyes. Dean saw what Sam was staring down, pressed a comforting hand to his shoulder, and headed to the couch, starting on the process of making the couch into an insanely comfy nest of blankets and pillows. It had become tradition back when Sam was still afraid of thunderstorms, whenever there was a storm, especially nasty ones like this one, they would make a blanket fort if they had enough blankets, or just a little nest for the two of them to wait out the storm together if there wasn’t enough for a fort.

Sam had gotten over his fear when he was nine, but they still used thunderstorms as time to be close, though their dad would bitch if he knew that Sam wasn’t actually afraid anymore, so for the sake of their own sanity, Sam would put up a front of still being afraid of thunderstorms when John was around. Bobby knew the truth, but he never cared much for the Winchester patriarch’s treatment of his children and let the boys do what they felt they needed to be happy.

Bobby knew, about two months after Sam and Dean had actually gotten together, that the two brothers were romantically involved. He’d had suspicions for years, but could never confirm.

Sam helped the best he could, stuffing pillows into the right spots and testing the lumbar support. Once they had everything just right, Dean lit the hurricane lamp on the coffee table, lightning flashing and causing the lights to flicker, stutter and finally, the power went out. Sighing heavily, Bobby went and started lighting candles, tapers, and votives that held no purpose, even a few scented ones leftover from Bobby’s wife.

It didn’t take long for the brothers to settle in, leaning against each other and Sam “hiding” his face in Dean’s shoulder, their headphones only managing to block out some of the thunder, which Sam flinched at to keep their charade.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Having two sleeves rolled up above my cast is really uncomfortable, help me get this flannel off.”

Dean hummed, nodding. When Sam pulled away from Dean set to work getting the flannel off of Sam’s arm while Sam slid out of the rest easily without jostling the arm Dean was working on much. “Who’s idea was it to button the fuckin’ thing in place?” He grumbled, the button slipping and sliding out of his fingers at every given chance.

“Yours. The flannel was your idea too.” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah well, you always get cold easier than I do.”

“That’s a bunch of shit, you always complain that I’m a furnace.” Sam jabbed his fingers into Dean’s ribs, making the older jump and huff in annoyance. Usually a move like this would be cause for them to start wrestling, and in turn, fuck like wild animals for hours until Sam was crying from how oversensitive and abused his ass was. But with Bobby and their dad there, and Sam’s injuries, they wouldn’t be jumping on that boat any time soon.

Once everyone was settled in, Bobby with the tome, John with his whiskey, and the brothers cuddled up, headphones on and Sam’s face buried in Dean’s neck, peeking out just enough to read the book that Dean had.

It took Sam a few minutes, his migraine and the storm making him confused as he jumped into the story, to realize that Dean was reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Specifically, Sam’s copy, a hardback book that’s corners were worn soft and flexible, pages were dog eared from being shoved, it smelled like gun oil and salt and Dean.

When the grand clock chimed five thirty, Bobby marked his spot in his book with a post-it note, announcing he’d make dinner. Ten minutes later the smell of sizzling meat and the bubbling of water could be heard. From the smell Sam and Dean both perked up, giving each other excited looks; Bobby was making ginger and orange beef stir fry, one of their favorites. John didn’t care much for it, but he liked it enough not to pass up a second helping.

Bobby Singer wasn’t a man that could cook a lot of things, but the things he could cook he made exceptionally well, no doubt because of the years of tweaking and fine-tuning. They tried hard to always be at Bobby’s house for their birthdays since Bobby would always make their favorites and a birthday cake that might look ugly but tasted just fine.

Just as they all gathered at the table, the wind and rain picked up, lightning flashed and hit the trees out on the edge of the property, struck the weathervane on the top of the shop, and the front door blew in. As the door banged and waved in the wind, Sam’s head throbbed, making him twice as dizzy.

“What in blue blazes…” Bobby barked as they all scrambled to the door, going for the supplies to bolt it shut.

All four men froze at the sight of the figure in the doorway.

“Hello, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL WHAT?
> 
> And hey, comments are really motivational, and so are kudos! Did you know, that even if you don't have an account and are just a guest, you can still leave kudos? Just sayin'....   
> Anywho. Don't forget to check me out on tumblr @j2sunflowerbaby where you'll see my mish-mash of Wincest and J2 stuff and little updates about the fic, or even little drabbles that I deem too small for AO3. (I don't publish anything under 1k on here so you might find some cute little blurbs.)
> 
> Also check out say-yes-to-hole on tumblr, I have my own tag on her blog so you can search ?anon on there and see pieces and parts or even whole stories in sections where they're raw and mostly unedited.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out who's at the door, what they want, and how Sam deals with it, but it seems that they just walk away with an even bigger question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow going is the writing, especially when you fall down a hole on Youtube and have a surprise letter from your local government tell you that you didn't file your local taxes from three years ago.

The four hunters stared in shock, their dinner growing cold on the table. Before them stood a man, face looking like the demon behind it had been riding the meat suit for a long time. But that’s not what made them stare, his eyes were yellow.

“How the fuck-” Sam stumbled, his brain and words not keeping up with each other.

“I’d scold you for language like a good parent, but I’m actually here to encourage it. Among other things.” Azazel grinned; a wicked look that told the humans in the room that it was more of a threat. Like when a wild animal bares its teeth.

John launched into action first, backpedaling into the kitchen and grabbing the canister of salt from the counter and running back throwing the salt at the demon. “YOU!” He snarled, face contorted in a vengeful rage.

“Aww,” The yellow-eyed demon cooed as he dodged the salt. “I’m insulted Johnny, you can’t even call me by my name? Oh, that’s right, you don’t know it, do you? No, you don’t know anything about me, or your precious Mary, or my sweet little Sammy.” Azazel taunted.

Bobby grabbed the shotgun from its resting space, aiming it at the demon and tracking the target. “Dean.” Bobby gave him a look, and Dean knew what it meant immediately, grab the super soaker full of holy water, grab Sam, and run. Run like there would be no tomorrow if they didn’t.

Azazel watched as Dean slipped his arm around Sam’s waist, tugging his brother close and reached for the water gun they kept near the shotgun. “Ah ah ah, no need to be rude. I just came to check in on my poor sweet Sammy. So _sweet_ , right Dean? Absolutely delicious.”

At that Dean tightened his arm around Sam as they both stiffened slightly, shifting their body language into a more defensive stance. Sam was clearly annoyed and grabbed the super soaker. “Don’t know what you’re talking about fuckwad, but you’re freakishly annoying.” He spat, starting to pump the water into the chamber.

“You’re damn cute, kiddo. I see why you’re so _enticing_.” The unholy intruder winked at Dean and smiled. “And you really should be a lot more polite to your father, Samuel. Now, everyone, sit.” Azazel snapped his fingers and they all were in their chairs at the table, the demon walking in and sitting at the head of the table next to Sam and Bobby.

Sam glared at the demon, just barely keeping his mouth shut. Dean was so pissed he couldn’t speak. Bobby was equally pissed that a demon not only interrupted dinner but just waltzed into his heavily warded home. John, however, was struggling at invisible binds that kept them all in their seats, hands-free and cursing out the demon until he started turning colors. They all just sat there, John fuming and resisting the restraints, the demon humming a jazz tune under his breath as he served them all portions of dinner. Finally, after they all had been served, and it was clear that the demon wasn’t harming anyone, John shut his trap. Only after Bobby had snapped at him with “For fuck’s sake John shut your fool mouth for five minutes.”

Sam broke the silence. “Why do you keep calling me son? I’m not yours.”

It had been burning incessantly on the tip of his tongue after the second time the demon had called him that, and it truly didn’t make any sense; Sam had one father. John might be a drunk, might be neglectful and more of a drill sergeant than a parent, but he wasn’t unfaithful to his wife and Mary wasn’t unfaithful to John.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong kiddo. Lemme tell you about your daddy. Oops, no, not him.” The demon grinned and pointed at Dean, hands folded under his chin while resting his elbows upon the table. “Suppose you only call Dean-o _daddy_ huh? Kinky. Kinkier than just plain brother-fucking. And the panties? Nice touch, but maybe both of you should wear them, it’ll really get those engines running’.” The demon teased, grinning wickedly.

“How about getting to the point?” Dean snapped, not appreciating that their secrets were being aired out.

“Yeah, I don’t see why you’re here doing all this unless you’re taunting us. So what’re you playing at?” Sam jumped in, keeping the demon’s focus on him. It seemed that the demon was particularly interested in him, and if he could manage to keep him from killing the other three, Sam decided it’d be worth it to lay down his life so that Dean at least continue on. They’d be crushed, but they’d be alive at least. “At least explain why you keep calling me your son, you seem to be pushing that.”

Azazel leaned back and looked over the youngest Winchester with amusement and pride. “Well alright then, guess I should start at the beginning to really get to it. Your mom made a deal kiddo, and that night she died? Well, she decided she didn’t want to pay. See, Johnny there, he didn’t know any better, but mommy was a hunter. I killed your pops here, she made a deal to bring him back; all she had to do was let me into her home ten years later and not interrupt what I was doing. But stupid Mary just couldn’t let me have my son, oh no, no, no. You see Sam, I have these _plans_ , and you’re the star of the show, or at least I hope so. You’ve got a few others in the competition but, lucky for you, I like you.”

Sam kept his glare cold, seeking Dean’s hand with his own under the table. Dean found Sam’s hand like they were magnets drawn together that fit like a puzzle so precisely cut that you couldn’t even see the seams, and squeezed gently to comfort his brother. With everything the yellow-eyed demon was spouting, they’d be in a world of trouble once John was free. “So why are you here, you didn’t come here to tell me all this shit for no reason.” Sam prompted.

Azazel shrugged and nodded. “True. I came to offer you an advantage. See, I’ve kept my demons keeping tabs on all my special children, but you Sam, you hold the most promise. Not to mention all the piss and vinegar and big brother spunk you’ve got inside of you, so I’m here to offer you this: take the advantage and you win the competition hands down, you’ll have to show up to the actual event, but you’ll win guaranteed. And, you’ll never lose him.” The demon nodded to Dean, leaned forward and grinned. “You’ll never be apart from Dean again if you don’t want to be, just gotta do what dear dead mommy didn’t want.”

Sam looked at Dean, having a silent conversation with him.  
**_I don’t want to, but I’m afraid something will happen to you if I don’t._**

**_I know, sweetheart. I don’t want you to, but I don’t think it’s really a choice either, I think if you say no, he’ll just use me like he used dad against mom._ **

**_Maybe it won’t be that bad, especially if you’ll be there. You’ll stay with me, no matter what, right?_ **

**_Of course, baby, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried._ **

**_I’m scared, but I can do this to keep you guys safe, as long as you’re there with me._ **

**_Forever and always, Sammy, I can promise that._ **

**_You better keep that promise, Jerk._ **

**_Bitch._ **

Sam squeezed Dean’s hand once more before turning to the demon, carefully phrasing his question in his head before asking, hopefully, he’d get a straight answer. “I’m interested, but I want to see this deal first, in writing. I want to negotiate.” He kept his chin up, full eye contact, and sat straight, pouring all of Dean’s love and support into the confidence he drug up from the nervous pit that had taken up residence where his stomach had once been.

Azazel raised his eyebrows, amused but pleased with the sheer backbone that this kid had. “You got it, gonna do well with the whole role if this is how you run things now.”

Bobby and John interrupted and started shouting at the same time.  
“What in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doin’ boy?”

“Absolutely not! Sam! I forbid it!”

Sam turned his cold gaze to his father, who was so mad that his face had turned nearly purple. “You forbid it? On what grounds do you have a right to parent me like that?”

“I am your father, and I-”

“Have been absent. Let’s count the days you have been there for us John since the days you haven’t been are so high it’s unreasonable to count them instead. You left your six-month-old son with your four and a half years old to go and look for answers you didn’t need to find. You left your children alone six out of seven days of the week, only being there to get a motel room for a week but staying gone for two weeks, making your eldest scrape and scrounge for every penny, every bit of food, do _unspeakable_ things to keep us from starving and being thrown out into the cold when the motel owner didn’t have an ounce of pity in their hearts. Forcing us to learn to cheat at cards, darts and pool, pickpockets and do everything to have enough to keep us in a room, where we had to stay if we weren’t in school, doors salted and a shotgun by the bed, knives, and guns under pillows. Missed birthdays, not allowing us to participate in extracurricular activities until I begged and pleaded for soccer, and only then you let me because it’d benefit me in hunting to have better hand-eye coordination and stamina and completely disregarding any achievements we made. Don’t even get me started on how you degrade Dean, he thinks the world of you, you’re his hero and all you do is tell him ‘ _why can’t you be smart like your brother_ ’ and ‘ _don’t disappoint me_ ’. You force the weight of raising a child onto his shoulders when he himself is still a child with no idea how to parent because his own parents aren’t there! One dead and the other absent.” Sam dug his anger into his father like barbed wire being pulled tighter and tighter around its victim, and in his anger it hadn’t even registered that he was now standing, free of the invisible binds, the lights were flickering on and off even though the power was still out, and that John’s face had gone from angry to scared, horrified, saddened and lastly pained guilt settled into his features like resin being poured into a mold with cracks and divots, sitting in the lines that time and hard years had stamped into a once youthful face.

Sam looked at Dean, silently asking if he was okay and if it would hurt him to reveal what it cost his brother to keep them out of the hands of Child Protective Services. When he got the answer, he took Dean’s hand and squeezed it, relaxing his hold enough for Dean to decide if he wanted to hold onto him or not, smiling softly and trying to communicate that it’ll all be okay, I’ll handle it this time, it’s my turn to take care of you right now.

With cold fire burning in his hazel eyes, Sam turned back to their father. “Your absence has done more damage than mom’s death, we could’ve been relatively normal with just a dead mother, but no. Your parenting, more like the lack of, forced Dean to sell his body, just to keep us in peanut butter and bread. And when they wanted more than what he offered? Well. Drifter life is really beneficial when you want to leave bodies behind to avoid cops. Dean never killed ‘em, but well, I’m a little possessive. Little bit protective, and a whole heaping mess of homicidal. Do you know what the best part is? When you left us in just the right place, and we couldn’t stomach another peanut butter and pickle sandwich, I provided for the both of us. I know you’ve seen it. That part of me that doesn’t flinch at killing the monster of the week, the way you look worried that I just might enjoy it.” Sam leaned forward a cold smile. “And I do. Do you know my favorite part? The death rattle. That last breath, shaking and unsure, their eyes going dull and glassy. Always gets me. I’m telling you now, John, don’t end up on the wrong end of my knife, because you won’t get away. While we’re airing the delicate load of laundry, might as well just do it all. Dean and I have been together for two years, started fucking a year ago, we love each other. There’s nothing wrong with love, and if you say a damn word against us-”

“Sam,” Dean said quietly. “I won’t let you do that, you can’t carry that with you forever.”

“And what, De? You’ll do it? You’ve never been the cold-blooded one.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t kill!”

“You’ve never been able to kill someone who hasn’t hurt me.” Sam pointed out.

Dean sagged a little in his chair, the invisible bindings still holding the other three men. Bobby had long gone silent and ashen, looking at the boys that he’d come to see as his own reveal a darker nature that he hadn’t anticipated.

“He has hurt you though Sammy, every broken promise, every time he’s yelled, put the fear of a beating into you, taken out drunken rages on both of us…. I could do it, especially if it meant you wouldn’t carry that burden forever.” Dean said quietly.

“Well, this has been very… Entertaining and educational.” Azazel spoke up for the first time since the shouting began. “Now, Sam, let’s get this negotiating done, shall we?”

Sam nodded and sat, a legal pad and pens appeared and so did a rather long piece of leathery scroll. It took well over four hours, and at one point they’d actually eaten, but after such extreme emotions, Sam’s stomach had tied itself in knots, causing him to nibble on toast lightly buttered and dusted with cinnamon sugar and a can of ginger ale. Azazel had let Dean out of the restraints after Sam had assured Azazel that Dean wouldn’t do anything that would endanger him.

Dean had barely left Sam, only twice to ‘see a man about a horse’ as he put it the first time and then ‘bleed the lizard’ the second time; which had gotten an unamused Sam’s ‘ew’ face. It had broken some of the tension.

“You know Sam, you’d make an excellent lawyer.” The demon smiled, rolling the scroll back up enough for them both to be able to sign the bottom. “Now, usually deals are sealed with a kiss, but I have a feeling you’d be opposed. A smear of blood from us both will do.”

Sam nodded, tired enough at this point that he just took a nearby kitchen knife, sliced the pad of a finger and wiped the blood on the line and passed the knife over. Azazel followed suit and smiled when he saw Sam watching the blood with fixed hunger.

Something primal and raw told Sam that he needed that blood. The feeling he got, whispering of untold power he’d love to have, yielding it at his fingertips, a brush of hunger became sudden hunger pains in his stomach when he caught a whiff of the sulfur-infused blood. Clutching his stomach, Sam stared with wide eyes as Azazel took the knife and sliced slowly, carefully, on the meat just above his wrist and offered it to Sam. “Drink it, you’ll have to start sooner or later, might as well be now.”

Sam hesitated, momentarily looking disgusted at the idea of drinking blood. Demon blood.

“I know, I know what you thought about. Those times where you could drop a body, but they wouldn’t have any money, no plastic, no cash. But you didn’t, scared that it’d scare Dean-o off, that it’d make you more of a monster than what I already made you.” Azazel cooed, gently pulling Sam closer and pressing his arm to his mouth. “Drink. You’ll be stronger than every human you encounter, stronger than demons, no more worrying that something will happen. And the best part is? You get all the demonic power and none of the restrictions. No salt, no holy water, no iron or exorcism can hurt you. You heal faster, run faster, think faster. Everything that I can do, you’ll be able to do.”

“What about Dean?” Sam narrowed his eyes and held the bleeding arm still, just far enough to not get blood in his mouth just yet, not yet.

“He’ll be taken care of, I’ll drag Cain to wherever you two are next, he’ll have to undergo the change of becoming a Knight of Hell. He’ll have the same advantages you do until he dies, in that case, he’d be full Knight and unable to cross iron, salt and devil’s traps, holy water would sting, demon killing blades and angle blades wouldn’t kill him, only The First Blade, which when you take the throne, he’ll take the Mark and the Blade. As per our agreement.” Azazel reassured Sam, then motioned to the bleeding arm again, pressed and pulled the cut until it bled more steadily again. “If you would, this is the start of a long process Sam, the sooner the better.”

“Fine.” Sam huffed, tired and more than ready to send the demon off. Behind him, he could hear John cursing under his breath between prayers spoken in poor Latin, prayers for cleansing and for purity. Sam could hear some phrases, just enough of the prayers, as he began drinking the blood, and if Sam’s Latin was right, John was begging for his sons. Begging for the righteous angels to cleanse his sons of their incestuous sins, remove the taint of their homosexual deeds from their souls, or to smite them to keep them from furthering their stain. Sam could feel a tight knot of irritation building into rage, he could feel the cold twinge he got whenever he felt the need to drop a body.

Usually, it would time itself just right, by the time he felt the need to kill, Dean usually had to trick to keep them fed. It wasn’t often, and it was even rarer for it to appear when he wasn’t watching Dean sell his body to strangers. Sam always watched, well, in a sense. He’d station himself somewhere he couldn’t be seen, close his eyes and wait for Dean’s panic word. ‘Honeybuns’. They were Sam’s favorite treat, and after the first time, Sam kept watch they’d decided it would be the perfect code word.

Sam felt that irritation turn into a tingling that made his fingers itch, after a few minutes the itch had built to almost intolerable levels with every greedy pull of blood that settled in his stomach. Pushing Azazel’s arm away, Sam licked the blood from his lips and turned to his father, eyes cold. “Shut. Up. Stop begging angels to come and ‘ _fix_ ’ us. Stop acting as if you care. Stop thinking you have any say in what either of us do. You gave me to Dean. I’m not your son, you’re not my father, and you have no authority over us.”

Dean watched Sam, unsure of how to feel about Sam deciding they were both done with their dad, after all, he was their dad.

Then Azazel spoke up. “Well, you really went in on him son, but maybe you should’ve conferred with Dean-o. You were right two and a half out of three though. John isn’t your father, and you’re not his son, so he’s never had any authority over you.”

Dean turned and gave the demon a confused look, Sam joining in as he whipped around. All eyes were on the demon.

Dean broke the silence first. “What do you mean, Sam _isn’t his son_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So updates are almost regularly once a week, but expect them less regularly until I get this stuff settled with these taxes.
> 
> If you want to see where I'm at on a more day-to-day basis on the next chapter you should check me out on tumblr @j2sunflowerbaby, I post little updates on how far I am on the chapter


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
> Yeah, it's been a while, sorry 'bout that. But hey! Here is the new chapter.
> 
> If you haven't seen, I've got a new work up called Campbell Upbringing. It's a multichapter that I'm working on for all-4-wincest on tumblr. It's a future Wincest/Weecest fic where instead of Mary dying on November 2nd, 1982, John dies. So far there's only one chapter, but if you're looking for 5k+ words to read you should check it out.

“Are you deaf? Hard of hearing? Or are you just stupid? I said, Sam Winchester isn’t John Winchester’s son. At least, not fully.” Azazel rolled his eyes, the swirling yellow color and the motion of rolling them made Sam feel vaguely nauseated. Maybe that was just the news of not fully being John’s son.

 

“Dean isn’t stupid. It just doesn’t make sense, so it’s a perfectly valid question. Answer it.” Sam demanded.

 

With a heavy sigh, a shoulder shrug and another eye roll, Azazel leaned against the kitchen counter.  “You’re part of a prophecy, and am only really concer ned about  you, Sam , but since you both are fused at the hip, I know the only way I’m getting anywhere is bringing your brother with you.”

 

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand as they both looked at each other, alarm in their eyes at the new information on their humanity, or semi-lack of it. “So if Sam isn’t fully human, what is he?”

 

“Fallen angel Nephilim. See, angels and fallen angels are different. Fallen angels and demons are different. Fallen angels are like a twist ice cream cone, can’t choose between chocolate or vanilla, so you get both. You get the benefits of angelic power, and demonic, without the limits the other's experience, your half-human parentage helps.” Azazel sighed, getting bored halfway through and starting to rummage through the drawers in the kitchen, pulling them open and playing with the pizza cutter, then dropping it back in the drawer and inspecting a meat thermometer before making a stabbing motion with it.

 

“Fallen angel?” Dean whispered, looking over to Sam and silently asking what his brother knew on the creature. When Sam shook his head, Dean couldn’t help but frown, they didn’t know anything about these creatures.

 

“So, I’m half fallen angel. Cool. Awesome.” Sam sighed heavily.

 

“Actually Sam, you’re not just part fallen angel, you’re part Prince of Hell too. You’ve got extra goodies.” Azazel mentioned as he picked up a sharpening block and started sharpening the end of the meat thermometer. “See, little Mary Campbell did some not so smart things. Like accepting the help of a fallen angel. Before you ask that burning question, Sam, let me explain a little. All Princes of Hell are fallen angels, but not all fallen angels are Princes of Hell, kind of like all pickles are cucumbers but not all cucumbers are pickles.” Azazel inspected the sharpened end tossed the thermometer back into the drawer. “Anyway, Sammy here isn’t just John’s kid, he’s mine.”

 

“You’re lying, there’s no way Mary would’ve-“ John snarled and snapped before a haunted look crossed his face. “No. No! You son of a bitch!”

 

“Yes! Oh, yes! But of course, you know only now! How wonderful!” Azazel grinned, clapping his hands like a toddler would when they were allowed an extra helping of ice cream.

 

“YOU POSSESSED ME TO FUCK MY WIFE?! I hope that wherever you go when you die is so awful that God himself is afraid of the torment you suffer.” John hissed.

 

“Well I hate to break it to you Johnny, but God’s too cocky to think he’ll die, but The Empty will be there. For me, for him, for his sister, the angels, and demons, but not for Sammy. No, Sammy boy here, he’ll live eternally. See, because of this little deal Mary Campbell made, because Sam is my son too, he’ll rule Hell. Forever. Sam will rule before he dies and after he dies. Someone kills him after he dies? Boomerangs right back to Hell. I’m quite proud of myself, finding a way to cheat the system just right so that it’s still technically the system, just,” Azazel paused, inhaling and smiling “Corrupt and glitchy. It’s beautiful.”

 

“So, you’re saying, that I am John Winchester’s son, but I’m also yours. Because you possessed him.” Sam crossed his arms, as best as he could with his right arm in the cast. “You wanna tell me that mom was actually a shapeshifter next? Or that unicorns are real?”

 

“Well unicorns did exist, but they look terrifying in comparison to what you humans think of. Very aggressive too.”

 

“Right. Listen, I think I’ve had more than enough for now. If I have more questions I’ll just wait until you pop in again.” Sam sighed, suddenly very exhausted.

 

“I’ll be sure to send you more Ovaltine soon kiddo, but in the meantime, good breeding from big brother’ll help with any crash you feel. Now, come say goodbye to your daddy like a good boy.” Azazel grinned, pulling Sam to him and planting a quick, bruising kiss on Sam’s lips. With a loud clap of thunder, lights went out and came back on, and Azazel was gone.

 

There was a near-immediate difference in the storm, the wind let up and the hail turning into rain again, rhythmically pelting along the roof. For a long time, the only sound was the rain outside. Sam was frozen where he had stood when Azazel kissed him.

 

Sam moved first, diving around to the kitchen sink and sticking his head under the tap and rinsing his mouth out. After he was done sputtering and spitting the taste of sulfur and corpse out of his mouth. As soon as he was done Dean was there with a towel, offering it to him and gently pushing Sam behind him, shielding him from John. It was then, when Sam’s mind cleared from the fuzzy pain that came with the forceful retching, that he noticed that Bobby was restraining their father.

 

“You’re sick! Twisted freaks! Both of you, barely human! Sam, you ruined your brother! And you let him! YOU LET HIM RUIN YOU, DEAN!” John snarled as he thrashed in Bobby’s slowly slipping hold.

 

Bobby grunted as he took a hit to the ribs that would’ve incapacitated him had it been at John’s full power, but with his arms restrained he could only manage a half-assed attempt. “Dean, get you two outta ‘ere! Go! I’ll call you when it’s safe, now go!” Bobby huffed out, struggling to hold back the ex-Marine back, only standing a shred of a chance because of all the hunting that he’d done.

 

Sam gave Bobby a worried look before he was being pulled behind Dean. Suddenly they were in the Impala, Sam in the passenger seat as Dean floored it and peeled down the gravel, both wincing minutely as they heard the spray of gravel hit along her body. There’d be nicks and scratches they’d need to try and buff out later. It didn’t matter right then though, because John Winchester had been chomping at the bit to get his hands on his sons, and the glint in his eyes promised death, slow and painful. 

 

It took twenty minutes of Dean driving like a bat out of hell before the shock gripped Sam fully. 

 

John knew about them.

 

Their dad knew that they were fucking.

 

Their dad knew that Sam wasn’t fully human.

 

He wasn’t fully human.

 

He drank demon blood.

 

He signed a contract with a Prince of Hell.

 

Apparently, Hell had a monarchy.

 

It wasn’t until Dean had apparently pulled over somewhere, it looked like a pull-off area not far out from Sioux Falls, and wrapped his arms around him. It seemed that in the midst of his train of thought, Sam started hyperventilating and having a full-on panic attack. When his hearing came back, having tuned out in the panic, Sam could hear Dean softly mumbling reassurances, trembling lips pressing kisses along his throat and his hair. Slowly, Sam calmed and clung the best he could to Dean’s shirt.

 

“Shh it’s okay baby, it’s alright.”

 

Sam snuffled and sniffed for a while, slowly calming down, the rattling of legos in the heat vents soothing his frayed nerves, Baby’s heat on full blast to ward off the late September to early October chill that accompanied the storm that had followed Azazel and no doubt a legion of demons that were part of his guard. With Dean’s assurances and soothing words, the lullaby of the Impala’s white noise, Sam finally calmed fully. “‘M sorry.” He croaked out, throat trashed from hyperventilating and hoarse screaming.

 

“It’s alright Sammy, you okay?”

 

“I guess. It just hit me, dad knows. Bobby knows. I signed a contract with a demon, and not just any demon, but a Prince of Hell, whatever that means. Top it all off with the fact that I’m not even human. De… I’m not...I…” Sam stopped, swallowed thickly, thinking of all the times they’d swallowed each other's cum, when they’d lick a drop of blood from a cut before patching one another up. He’d unknowingly been transferring demon DNA to Dean every single time they kissed. He tainted his brother with his inhuman genetics. “Oh god, De.”

 

“Hey, c’mon baby boy, shhh. It’s alright. Nothin’s gonna happen. We’re alright. Everything will turn out okay.” Dean rubbed Sam’s arm, holding him close and sharing as much body heat as he could. “You said it yourself, we don’t need him. We’re fine just how we are right now. Just you and me.” 

 

Dean sounded confident, but there was still a tinge of hesitation to the edge of his voice, and it was there, buried deep in his bottle-green eyes. Sam swallowed and nodded, letting Dean provide the confidence they needed to get them through the rest of the day, to get them to the point where the small lie became truth in the future. Fake it until you make it. Sam nodded again, sitting up and pulling away a little from Dean, trying to get some distance from the shared heat after realizing that he was actually too warm and sweating quite a bit. Which explained why his cast felt moist and itchy. “We can’t just leave it like that though Dean, can’t leave Bobby to deal with dad. Besides, we don’t exactly have any of our stuff.”

 

“Don’t worry about that right now, we’ll go back later tonight. For now, let’s go get our mind off things. I think I know what’ll help.” Dean smiled, ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and kissed his forehead before popping Iron Maiden’s Number of the Beast into the tape deck and turning the engine over again. “Just relax, let me take care of you for a bit. Gotta be feelin’ all sorts of things right now.”

 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a lot. I mean, I signed a contract with a Prince of Hell. Fuck! Dean, we don’t know anything about those! Demons, sure, we know some stuff, but… I mean. Fuck.” Sam sighed heavily and laid his head on Dean’s shoulder as they started driving. They sat in silence, processing the past few hours. It was only twenty minutes later before Sam realized they were on the highway, headed west. Normally he wouldn’t ask, but Sam just wasn’t in the mood to not know things right then, and he kinda had to take a leak so he needed to know if they were going to be on the road for long. “So, where’re we going ?”

 

“It’s a surprise.”

 

“Okay. Are we going to be on the road long? More than half an hour?”

 

“Yeah, even with my driving it’s kinda far.”

 

“Next place we can get something caffeinated and somewhere to take a piss, pull off,” Sam said softly, closing his eyes and resting against Dean, knowing that his brother would concede to that request. That was the difference between Dean and their dad, with John, there were no rest stops unless John had to stop. It was empty Gatorade bottles and hand sanitizer; and even the hand sanitizer had taken a massive argument from Sam because John was one of those guys that didn’t believe men had to wash their hands after taking a piss, but with Dean he’d pull off whenever one of them needed to hit the head, stretch, or get something to put into their stomachs, as long as they weren’t stopping often. 

 

“You got it babydoll, you just relax for a bit and let me know if you need anything. We left without your pain pills, but I think we’ve still got a stash in the back seat if you need somethin’.” Dean offered, about 70% of his focus on the road since the storm had been pretty intense and the roads weren’t all that clear. So Sam did as his lover suggested, relaxing and resting his head against the cold glass of the window, watching the blurring shoulder of the road.

 

It didn’t take long for Sam to zone out, his mind blank as he watched the vegetation on the side of the road pass, absently nothing where he saw various plants that were used in spells and witchcraft. When passing a rather large stretch of yarrow he couldn’t help but hum in surprised confusion, getting a brief glance and questioning grunt from Dean. Not far from the stretch of yarrow there was an exit for gas and food. Sam could feel the change in the Impala’s speed as soon as Dean lifted slightly off the gas, the subtle decrease and curve into the tires, leading her over to the exit, all before Dean even made the movements to tell her where to go. It was like Baby knew, that she practically drove herself, taking her family wherever they needed to be.

 

Sam was sure that after everything, when their dad, Dean, and himself were gone, Baby would need to be salted and burned. 

 

That thought alone made his heart ache a lot more than he thought it would. She had been the only home he’d ever known. Maybe he didn’t love her like Dean or their dad did, he didn’t have the natural knack for figuring out if her timing belt needed changed or knew exactly how many miles before she needed a new filter and oil, but he knew exactly how many hunts they could go before she needed detailed. How many dirt roads before they’d need to crawl under her and remove any build-up, and where the salt and road treatments in the winter would do the most damage and build up until he and Dean had the right day in spring to scrub the spots and pressure wash her undercarriage. He knew without pressing on the brakes when she needed fluid or the pads attended to, if the lines were in good shape or not, and knew when the fuel gauge was acting up exactly how much gas was left in the tank. He knew that the army man would forever be in the ashtray in the back, the legos in the heater, their initials carved into her baseboards, that somewhere deep under the back seat, the hand to his Thundercats action figure was still there. Baby was their four walls and a roof, and she always would be.

 

It took Dean calling him a few times before Sam realized that they were at the nearest gas station. Nodding in thanks, Sam shoved himself from the warm confines of Baby’s interior and into the bitter cold wind that was kicking up, heading straight inside with Dean hot on his heels. They’d need coffee and snacks if Dean was right about how long they’d be on the road. It was nearly 22:00, and guessing by what Dean had mentioned, they wouldn’t be back at Bobby’s until late the next morning. That would probably be long enough to make sure that either Bobby had a handle on their dad, or their dad was gone, at least for a little while.

 

Sam relieved his bladder, muttering and cursing the cast on his right hand when he couldn’t get the button undone as quickly as he was used to, and not being able to wash that hand either. Sam shuddered at the idea of having to keep the cast on for another two months. Hopefully, when they went to readjust it he could talk the doctors and nurses into letting him at least douse his hand in rubbing alcohol to kill off any germs and bacteria festering on his skin. Dean will have a field day helping him get his arm clean again after the cast comes off.

 

They refuel, grab snacks and coffee so bad they both look at each other and mutually decide they’d be stopping to get something that didn’t taste like two-week-old burnt coffee sludge. After stopping at the town’s only real feature, a Krispy Kreme that had the “Hot and Now” light on, they drove away with four coffees and two dozen hot glazed doughnuts. Finally, they were back on the highway, cruising around 60 miles an hour, Bob Seger playing in the tape deck as Sam sipped his coffee. Dean savoring the fifth doughnut he had in his fingers, shuddering under the influence of sugar and the soft confection basically dissolving on his lips before it even reached his tongue.

 

They kept going for hours, even after Sam softly said about it being past midnight. 

 

“I know baby, I just… I don’t want to be near the house for a day or so. Don’t wanna be near where-” Dean bit his tongue and sighed heavily through his nose, lips pressing into a hard line. “You sold yourself, Sammy. At least, that’s how I see it. You signed that contract to keep us safe, and not just you, not just us, but dad and Bobby too, you spent hours negotiating with a high-level demon. But you ultimately didn’t have a choice, and that’s so fucked up!”

 

“Dean.” Sam sighed, pushing his bangs out of his face with the fingers that stuck out from the cast, the left fingers were sticky and he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to wash his hair for at least a day or so.

 

“Sam, you just agreed to something, and we don’t know the full extent of it and we won’t until it’s happening. And somehow, somehow that fucking demon was able to rope me into the deal too! You heard what he said, I’m part of your package. Sammy, this is so messed up, even for us.”

 

“I know, I know De, I’m sorry. I just-” He sighed heavily, picking at a loose thread on his sweatshirt. “When I looked into his eyes, and that was terrifying all on its own, I saw stuff. Visions, I guess. They were happening with the migraines too.”

 

“Why didn’t y-”

 

“Because I didn’t realize until last night, and then the migraine was still so bad, I just… Anyway. I saw what he’d do if I didn’t sign, and he would’ve used you just like he used dad against mom. I just- I couldn’t. I don’t  _ ever  _ want to see your lifeless body. Got it?”

 

“Yes honey, now chillax until we get there.” Dean soothed before resting his hand at the nape of Sam’s neck, thumb rubbing and circling gentle patterns. “I don’t like that you had to sign the contract any more than you do, I don’t. But until we know for sure what will happen, we make the most out of what we are and what we can do right now. That means we take full advantage of everything, the fake credit cards, the barely present parental figure, how to stay off the grid. Everything. We’ll do everything you want, everything we’ve wanted to do, enjoy things. And you know what? I don’t give a flying fuck about what dad says or does, we’re together. Even if-“ Dean cut himself off, unwilling to say the thought they both had discussed a few times. 

 

Once in a cabin in Colorado, deep in the woods and near a lake that was freezing cold even on the hottest days; their lips and minds softened with a bottle of spiced rum that made them warm as they had sat on the end of the dock, feet in the icy water and half covered by the shade provided by a huge cedar tree. 

 

Twice in New Mexico, once before a fight, and again after it; it had been before Dean had stopped keeping up appearances and fucking girls, at least actually fucking them; Dean had still been appearing to have slept around like a regular man whore to their dad’s knowledge, only hickies and the smell of sex on Dean’s skin as evidence. Sam hated that fight. So did Dean, even if he wouldn’t show it, it had hurt him that he had fought with Sam, knowing that he was hurting his baby in more than one way.

 

Sam relaxed against his seat, soaking in the heat that smelled like warm Legos, gunpowder, Old Spice, and the cedar pine soap that Dean secretly stocked up on whenever they were at Bobby’s. Dean would never admit that he bought the soap because he had sensitive skin and the stuff John chucked at them made him break out, it was the same reason Sam made sure to pick some pockets whenever they needed to get the laundry detergent that was formulated for sensitive skin, also known as baby laundry detergent. They’d figured out that Dean’s skin was sensitive to detergents and soaps after he’d broken out in hives after washing their clothes in Tide, and it only got worse when he’d used the soap John had handed him. It took two weeks of washing with baby soap and shampoo for Dean to finally stop itching, and six washes with Dreft for Dean to finally be able to wear his clothes without discomfort. Sam had spent the whole time handing his miserable lover Benadryl and rubbing him down with soothing lotion and cool washcloths. 

 

The whole train of thought was welcome, far from what had been running through Sam’s head not long ago. Still, he felt worried enough he couldn’t relax fully enough to allow him some sleep. At least that’s what he thought. 

 

Next thing he knew his body felt the Impala slow and pull to the side. The engine was left running so the heat stayed on, the driver’s side door popped open with a groan, creaked, groaned and thunked, making the car sway slightly. Sam pawed at his eyes a little before blearily, barely making out that Dean was headed just off to the side of the road barely out of the edges of the light coming from the Impala’s headlights, fingers already to the front of his jeans, nimble fingers popping the buttons. Sam watched for a few seconds before stretching and yawning widely, feeling his back crack and knees pop. When he finished stretching like a cat lazing in a stretch of midday sunshine, Sam turned his head to watch Dean walk back his side to the car, or at least that’s what he expected to see. Instead, Dean’s body language was all wrong for a casual watering of the weeds, it was definitely more like when Sam would whisper filth to Dean under his breath in public, making Sam realize that Dean may have initially stopped to take a piss, but decided to give himself a little extra relief. Growling to himself, Sam muttered about hypocritical possessive boyfriends while rolling down the window.

 

“Hey! Nobody jacks that dick except me, Winchester! Now get back here or else!” Sam barked out the window, tossing a balled-up wad of napkins out at Dean. They were biodegradable so Sam didn’t feel terrible about them bouncing off of Dean’s shoulder and into the inky darkness beyond the headlight’s reach. It was totally worth seeing Dean jump a little and turn partially, dick hard and red at the tip, leaking precome already in a steady drip, sticky and slick. Dean’s cheeks were flushed with both arousal and from the bitter chill of a South Dakota autumn night. “C’mon, your dick is gonna get too cold, I’ve got you covered.” Sam coaxed, leaning out the window slightly. “Plus it’s warm in here.” 

 

“Fuckin’ jesus Sammy, scared the piss outta me,” Dean grumbled for a minute, huffing and puffing irritably about being spooked with not only a ball of napkins but his own boyfriend giving him blue balls.

 

“Nah, I need a snack, not gonna leave you hanging. Just get in here.” He smiled, shaking his head and rolling up the window to let the car warm up again. They’d lost enough heat with the window rolled down that it wasn’t nearly as cozy.

 

A sloppy and enthusiastic blow job later and Sam was settled into the back seat, Dean chuckling and saying Sam had had his midnight snack, but he was a growing boy and needed his sleep when Sam had initially protested. He was still irritated that Dean wouldn’t tell him where they were going, but with a promise of being there when he woke up and a healthy breakfast awaiting them.

 

“Love you, De, sorry you got roped into the contract too.” Sam hummed, curling his good arm into the pillow and blanket.

 

“Nah, would’ve put myself in there if I hadn’t already. We’re a package deal sweetheart, where you go I do too. Hell included. I love you, Sam, get some sleep, you’ve had a rough past few days.”

 

“M'kay mama bear.”

 

Sam could feel a slight ache in his head building to something potentially crippling, so he dug out the ibuprofen from the glovebox, leaning across the back of the front seat and stretching as far as he could, ignoring Dean’s side glance full of worry and taking three pills with the last of his second coffee, now just barely warm enough to drink. With medicine in his system and a goodnight kiss, Sam laid back down in the back seat and drifted off, excited to see where Dean was taking them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry about the delay, but I have been busy with IRL stuff. My cat has needed some real grooming, which isn't exactly easy because she's not accustomed to being groomed and she's 16, grumpy, and demanding. Finally, after like 9 months my room is finally done, got a bookshelf and fixed that up. (Gonna still see about getting some shelves to affix to the wall above my bed for more storage because this bitch needs a Sam and Dean Funko Pop (couldn't care less about Castiel honestly but Crowley would be awesome too.))
> 
> I have some Pet Sitting to do from the end of September to the beginning of October, and I might be getting my own laptop after that, depends on what I have in my bank account at that point I guess. Anyway, next chapter, Sam and Dean lay low, enjoy some time alone, and head back to Bobby's. Is it going to be a bloodbath? Who knows, I don't. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this chapter! 
> 
> As always you can find me on tumblr @j2sunflowerbaby , send me asks and feel free to drop suggestions there or in the comments here, I read them all and more than likely will respond.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have an encounter at a diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 3795

Sam woke up with a headache, which made him cranky. But he also woke up with Dean in the front seat and Mount Rushmore outside of the window.

 

It took Sam a full five minutes before he realized that it wasn’t a dream and that they weren’t parked in front of a billboard with the iconic monument on it. He sat in silence, staring out at the mountainside and wondering why Dean had brought them there. Then the events of the night came back, making Sam wince and settle against the door. At least they’d left in comfortable clothes that didn’t suck to sleep in. The last thing Sam wanted to do is fall asleep wearing something spiked or studded, not that he hadn’t several times, but it never felt any better. 

 

The windows had frost patterns kissing the glass, trailing around in lightning-like splits and curves. Dean was snoring still wrapped in the blanket he’d pulled out from under the seat. 

 

Sam sat there, wrapped in John’s military issue [woobie](https://www.armysurplusworld.com/woodland-camo-poncho-liner), the ties on the corners a little ratty looking from when Sam used to chew on them during his early years, apparently he’d reject anything other than the ties while he was teething. Sam was pretty sure that John had bought a few others at the Army-Navy surplus stores, even rip-stop nylon could only take so much abuse.

 

They were parked close to the edge of the parking lot, massive evergreen trees towering above them and casting enough shade to keep the car dark enough for Dean to get some restful sleep without the aid of sunglasses. Mount Rushmore was hours away from Bobby’s, which put them a safe enough distance from their dad while he went through his meltdown before driving off to somewhere. The only real unknown in all of this was how long they’d have to wait before they could go back to Bobby’s to get their stuff, it could already be over and they could go back any time, or they might have to wait until the end of the week because John trashed Bobby’s house in a fit of rage and now their surrogate uncle was making their dad clean up the mess he made. Sam leaned back and sighed softly, staring out at the mountain range with tired eyes.

 

He rubbed at his face, smearing the last remains of the eyeliner he’d applied the day before, he needed to lay off the eyeliner for a little while until it all wore off since the makeup remover that he owned wasn’t very effective. Glancing at Dean, stretched out as much as possible in Baby’s front seat, neck jammed against the driver’s side door in what Sam knew to be an uncomfortable position, wishing that he had some coffee. Or at least pillows for them both. Pillows or at least thick jackets they could bunch up in place of pillows.

 

The silence was both calming and deafening. It was the barest of the beginning of the morning, and judging by the clouds it looked as if South Dakota was going to get snow today. Sam glanced at Dean’s watch, noting that today was October 2nd, a little early for snow, but it might only be a light dusting. Bobby had said something in the past few years about getting snow earlier than normal. Unfortunately, that meant they had to store Dean’s bike for the winter and stick to the Impala.

 

Sam watched the clouds for a few minutes, trying to tell how fast they were moving and guessing if they’d get snow or if it’d pass them by. It’d be impossible to tell if Sioux Falls would get snow, they were too far away and didn’t know how big the system was, but Sam silently hoped that they wouldn’t encounter any snow, he liked the aesthetic of it, but it made Dean grumpy. One, he couldn’t ride his bike when they were up north in the winter, so Dean preferred to be in the southern half of the country for the winter, two, if they were up north the roads were treated with solutions that needed to be washed off the undercarriage of the Impala at least once a month, which meant they had to find somewhere warm enough to put her so ice wouldn’t form. It also meant all three of them were in Baby instead of occasionally swapping so Sam and Dean could get some time alone together. 

 

It seemed like forever before Dean stirred, exhaling through his nose a little heavier and grunting as he shifted his weight, the creak of the leather of the seat and the rustle of Dean’s clothes told Sam that he was rubbing at his face and trying to convince himself to wake up fully. Or at least wake up enough to go get coffee and breakfast.

 

“Wha time izzit?” Dean slurred through a yawn, fingers scratching at the stubble on his jaw as he slowly sat up and looked over at Sam, eyes still bleary from not enough sleep and driving over 350 miles in the middle of the night.

 

“Around six-ish I think, I dunno. I’m not the one with the watch, babe.” Sam stretched again and felt his back crunch and pop, settling into a more human shape. “Scoot over, I’ll drive and get us breakfast, you look like you’re going to fall asleep again.”

 

Dean tossed an insulted and grumpy look over the back of the seat at his little brother, huffing softly before digging the keys out of his pocket and handing them to Sam, scooting over and sighing as he found a more comfortable position against the passenger side window. 

 

Sam smiled softly and shook his head, grabbing the blanket he’d fished out from under the seat last night and tucked Dean into it before crawling over the back of the seat and into the driver’s spot. Beside him, Dean huddled under the blanket further, basking in the warmth that was left from being wrapped around Sam all night.

 

Slowly they crept out of the parking lot of the national monument’s office. He had to admit, it was gorgeous out here, but it wasn’t exactly the best time of year to be sleeping in the car. Sam made sure to keep the heat off for a while, the engine too cold to do anything but provide them a blast of cold air.

  
  


The nearest diner was about thirty minutes away. Swooping cursive neon lights boasted  _ Ella’s Diner, Best Bacon Pancakes in all of South Dakota _ . That got Dean’s attention immediately, eyes bright with the excitement of being able to have bacon in his pancakes instead of just on the side. “Sammy. Sammy  _ bacon pancakes _ .”

 

“I see that Dean. Order them. C’mon, I’m starving and I need coffee bad.” Sam nudged the older in the shoulder before pocketing the keys to the Impala and getting out, sucking air through his teeth as the bitter wind hit him right in the face, causing a brief moment of the feeling of not being able to breathe. Scurrying around to the trunk of the Impala, Sam quickly opened Baby’s trunk and rummaged through their emergency stash of clothes. Pulling out Dean’s Carhart jacket, a flannel for both of them and his black trenchcoat that he’d sewn a quilted jacket into it like a lining. Sam quickly closed the trunk and headed to Dean before he got out of the car, passing him the clothing just as he opened the door. “You’ll want those. It’s as bitter as straight cocoa powder.” Sam managed to get out as the wind whipped around him and choked him.

 

Dean nodded and shrugged into the flannel and then his Carhart while Sam shrugged into his extra layer. It was early enough that there were only a few cars in the parking lot, so they had a great spot as close to the diner as possible, but it was still a good thirty feet to the door.

 

By the time they managed to get into the diner, the wind trying to keep the door shut and them out, Sam’s eyes had watered enough that he had tears tracking down his face and Dean’s nose was red and sniffling. A kind middle-aged woman showed them to a booth not too far away from the kitchen, telling them sweetly that it was the warmest spot in the place.

 

“What can I get you, boys?” She smiled after handing them menus.

 

Dean rubbed his hands together and grinned, “Bacon pancakes, side of bacon, hashbrowns, and eggs, over easy. Coffee, black for both of us.”

 

“Alrighty, black coffee for both of you. And you honey? What can I get for you besides coffee?”

 

“Chocolate chip pancakes with fruit, hashbrowns, and sausage, please. Just bring a whole thing of coffee, it’s been a long night.” Sam said softly, getting a sympathetic smile from the motherly waitress. 

 

“You got it, let me know if you two need anything else, okay?”

 

“We will, thanks.”

 

They settled into the booth, relishing in the warmth of the diner and feeling their bones warm from the chilly night they’d spent in the Impala. Baby was their home, but even on cold nights, nothing beat having somewhere with a little more insulation.

 

Their waitress brought them two large steaming mugs of black coffee, the heavenly aroma hitting their noses before she even made it to their table. Sam readily accepted the navy mug with black and white speckled glaze, Dean’s being a black mug with white and grey speckles, the name of the diner on both sides of the mug in neon blue, the same as the sign outside. With a quick smile, their waitress left them and returned with a carafe of coffee, Dean already working on draining the mug and Sam savoring the coffee. It was far better than any diner coffee he’d ever had. Rich and bitter, with notes of chocolate and cherry and a touch of cinnamon. It was perfect. Sighing contently, Sam sipped his coffee down and closed his eyes. They still felt like there was sand in them from the crying he’d done last night. There was still residual panic in the back of his mind, telling him that he should be freaking out way more than he already was. But, Sam pointedly told that voice that was freaking out that he would deal with it after he’d gotten something to eat and was far more caffeinated than he was right then. Plus, he and Dean needed to talk things through first.

 

It’s not like they could go back on the road with their dad. He’d probably kill one of them. It was almost up in the air which son he’d kill though. The eldest? Who should have known better? Who had betrayed his trust? Or his youngest? The one who tempted? The one that was infected with demon blood and signed his life away? The one who wasn’t even fully human?

 

Sam snorted softly to himself at that thought. Yeah, no, it wouldn’t be that much of a choice now that he thought about it. Dad would kill him. Because he wasn’t human.

 

“Sammy?” Dean questioned softly with a gentle nudge of his foot against Sam’s ankle under the table.

 

“‘S nothing De, at least nothing we have to talk about right now. Breakfast first.” Sam tried to soothe the older Winchester, carefully knocking his knee into Dean’s.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Well, this isn’t exactly the best place to talk about it, seeing as it’s pretty public.”

 

“Yeah, but there’s like nobody here.”

 

“And that could be a good thing or bad. Easier to overhear conversations if it’s really quiet, isn’t it?”

 

“Touche.” Dean poured himself another cup of coffee and topped off Sam’s.

 

Their waitress was bringing over their breakfasts on a large tray when the door chimed, letting her know there was another customer. Smiling she turned and told the man, tall, thin, receding hairline and strange eyes. “Go ahead and sit anywhere you like, I’ll be there in a moment to take your order.” She told him before turning back to their table and sliding plates in front of them. “Here you boys go, anything else I can you?”

 

Sam shook his head with a soft smile, “No, thank you. We’re good.”

 

The man had taken a spot at a small table not very far from the brothers, not that either had actually looked up since their food arrived in front of them to notice. Sam was happily shoving strawberry topped chocolate chip pancakes into his mouth, melted butter, and syrup adding to the diabetic nightmare. “Surprised that you got that Sammy, you’re always tellin’ me to order something healthier.”

 

“Yeah, well I figure it’s not the worst thing that I can put in my body. I mean, sugar is way better for you than heroin.”

 

“You’re not wrong, besides, strawberries are good for you even though they’re high in sugar, it’s just natural sugars.” Dean hummed as he slathered his bacon pancakes in butter and syrup.

 

“Dean, eat your eggs before they get cold and gross. You always pout when they get too cold.”

 

“Bite me.” Dean huffed.

 

Sam grinned wickedly and wiggled his eyebrows with a hum deep in his chest. “Later.”

 

“Is that a promise?”

 

“Oh yeah. And then you can bite me. Maybe even more.”

 

“Fuck baby, causin’ me some problems over here.”

 

“Then chew your food, you animal. Not my fault that you try to put half a pancake in your mouth at a time.” Sam rolled his eyes and glared at Dean when his boyfriend stole a strawberry from his stack of pancakes. “And get your own strawberries! You could’ve ordered some.”

 

“Aww, c’mon baby, you know I gotta look like the tough one in our relationship. With your long flowing hair and puppy dog eyes, there’s no way anyone would think you’re anything but a guy with marshmallow goo in the center.” 

 

“And just for that comment, no ‘ _ marshmallow goo _ ’ for you later. Eat.”

 

Suddenly the man that had entered the diner came over and slid into the booth, shoving Sam over against the wall, a grin on his face, making the skin around his yellow eyes crinkle. “Hello, boys, so nice running into you here.”

 

Dean started choking on his pancakes and Sam froze, a fork full of pancake and strawberry halfway to his mouth. Reaching over to pat Dean’s back as he leaned over, Sam regained his composure after the older of the brothers waved him off and wheezed for a few seconds before slowly drinking some coffee.

 

“Azazel. What do we owe this visit to this time?” Sam sighed, mildly annoyed.

 

Azazel raised an eyebrow and smiled like the cat that caught the canary. “Well, I thought I’d give you your ‘protein shake’ supply for the week. And where you two need to head to meet Cain. Stubborn bastard said he’d give Dean the Mark, but only if you two went to him. He wants you both there by Halloween.”

 

Sam crinkled his nose at the idea of calling demon blood his ‘protein shakes’. Better than calling it drugs, or demon blood. “Yeah, okay. Did you have to interrupt our breakfast though? It was kinda a long night. I’m honestly surprised we’re even awake right now.”

 

“Come on Sam, you know there’s more that we didn’t talk about last night.” Azazel sat back, grin falling.

 

Sam sighed heavily and nodded. “Fine, but this means you’re paying for breakfast. And I mean actually paying with money, American currency. Without killing anyone.”

 

“You’re no fun.” Azazel sighed. “Alright fine, I’ll pay with your worthless currency for whatever you two eat. Now, we have things to discuss.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Well, you’re my son. Typically fathers grant their sons spending allowances.”

 

Dean and Sam sat shocked for a solid minute before glancing at each other. “Wait, you’re just going to give me money?” Sam asked, uncertainty lacing his features and voice.

 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m millennia-old, I remember the first concept of money, the first bank, the first tax. I have more than enough wealth to just hand it over to you in order for you to be able to fund your travels and anything else. Besides, I’m not fond of the idea of someone coming into an unsecured motel room to hunt you. Make no mistake, the hunting community will put you as target number one when they find out what you are.”

 

Dean growled low in his chest at the thought of someone coming to hurt his Sammy. Azazel raised a hand placatingly and pulled a thick tome out of what appeared to be thin air. “This is a grimoire full of spells you’ll find useful in hiding yourselves from humans and angels. I’ll make sure you have someone at your disposal to help gather ingredients you have a hard time getting, and to help translate spells if you get stuck. I’ll assign a demon named Crowley. He’s in charge of all Crossroads demons. Next order of business; your powers.”

 

“Powers. Alright, so what can we expect from Sammy being part fallen angel and Prince of Hell and human?” Dean asked as he nibbled on a piece of bacon.

 

“Well here’s where it gets fun. There’s never been anything quite like Sam, so it’s impossible to say really. There are the basics of course; telekinesis, pyrokinesis, teleportation, compulsion, I’m sure there’s more. Being part celestial and infernal being is going to open up so many doors, I’d like you to keep track of anything out of the ordinary.” Azazel once again reached into a pocket inside of his jacket and pulled out a leather journal, a little bigger than the one their dad carried. The leather was black, soft and supple-looking, the closure seemed to be made out of antique silver, all around the edges of the book were runes and sigils. “Sam, this isn’t any ordinary journal. You’ll need to lock it to you and Dean. Each of you will need to smear some of your blood on the sigils and runes, place it in the moonlight overnight and wait for the runes to glow. It’ll always have more room to write, and only those who it’s bound to can open and read it.”

 

“And if someone who isn’t it’s master opens it?” Sam quirked an eyebrow in question as he took the journal and ran his fingers along the soft, but sturdy leather.

 

“It’s like a cross between a dog whistle and a car alarm, but in that person’s head. It has the potential to drive them insane or liquefy their brain, depends on if they ignore the book to keep reading or not.” Azazel informed them casually while pulling out another item from his pocket. Dean absently made the mental comparison to Mary Poppin’s bag with how Azazel just kept procuring things from the pockets in his jacket.

 

“Might need to put that in a binding box, just to keep curious hunters out of it.” Sam sighed, knowing that if Bobby didn’t completely disown them like their dad surely was, then he’d want to inspect things and may briefly forget once and try to read the journal, thinking it a useful tome of lore.

 

“Good call.” Dean nodded and moved to steal another one of Sam’s strawberries and then a bite of hashbrowns, Sam allowed the strawberry but drew the line at the hashbrown theft. Rolling his eyes, Dean flagged down their waitress and ordered four more sides of hashbrowns. Sam smiled and shook his head, noting that Dean had already cleared all of his own breakfast and half of one of Sam’s sausages. “Eat Sammy, let the demon do the talking.” 

 

Sam shrugged and quickly finished off his pancakes, working slower on his hashbrowns and alternating bites between hashbrowns and sausage.

 

“Here’s your money kiddo, Cain’s address, and the directions to get there. Drink a full one of these as often as you can. I don’t care if you mix it into something to help get it down, just drink it all.” Azazel handed Sam two platinum credit cards and one of the legendary  Centurion black cards, a large flask, and a piece of parchment. “I want you both to go get tattooed, get an anti-possession symbol somewhere it won’t get chopped off or burned off on accident. I don’t need any demon that might get too big for its meat suit thinking it can jump into one of you and use it against me. While you’re at it, get angel warding too.”

 

Sam nodded, making a mental list; they’d need to find someone reputable and clean, but willing to tattoo someone under the age of eighteen. “Got it. How do you keep finding us, by the way? Bobby’s is warded down to the nails.”

 

“I was wondering the same thing.” Dean murmured around the other half of the sausage he’d stolen from Sam, eyes lighting up in delight when the extra hashbrowns arrived at the table.

 

“I can always find my blood. Now, eat well boys.” Azazel got up and laid a hundred dollar bill on the table before vanishing much like he had the night before.

 

“So we have a demon butler, unlimited funding, a journal that can institutionalize someone, and a priceless grimoire. Cool.” Dean sighed heavily, sliding the plate of hashbrowns over toward Sam. “Help me with these.”

 

Sam didn’t even hesitate to start digging into the hashbrowns, weighing out everything that just happened. “I want to do research on Nephilim. Maybe there will be some ancient archaic accounts telling me at lease  _ something _ more than nothing.”

 

“Alright, so where do you think we should start this research?”

 

“I think we need to head back to Bobby’s. It’ll be a decent starting point, and maybe he’ll be able to point us to a library or professor or something.” 

 

Dean nodded his head, sighing sadly. “We might not be able to ever go back to Bobby’s after this.”

 

“I know. I really hope he doesn’t-” Sam stopped and shook his head. He couldn’t even say it. 

 

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

 

They finished their meal, not a crumb left between a teenage boy and a young adult. They left the full hundred and told their waitress no change, making her tear up. Sam shook his head and softly told her it was the least they could do. Just ask quickly as they entered the establishment, they left and packed themselves into the Impala, new items secure in Sam’s arms, a platinum credit card in each of their wallets and the Centurion card in Dean’s. 

 

Together they set off east, back to Sioux Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's been so long.
> 
> My aunt, who I lived with, died four days before Christmas. So we're in the midst of settling things and I'm just starting to get into the swing of things, not being responsible for her care, getting things from the will squared away. Junk like that. I am also now the owner of four cats instead of one, since I will be officially adopting all three of my aunt's cats. So there's that. Anyway, this chapter is a little shorter, I know. Sorry, it's been rough lately. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, again, this has started on say-yes-to-hole's tumblr as an ask story. I'll be cross-posting on my Wincest sideblog @j2sunflowerbaby .
> 
> And hey, if you really like this so far, hit that lil subscribe button for emails when I update, I won't commit to a set schedule because I suck at those, but I can probably say at least once a week until I don't have anything pre-written left.


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